


The Anderson Rose

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 191,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mountains of what was once the Northeastern United States of America, the descendants of a band of refugees who had escaped New York City at the end of a great World War are beginning to thrive after almost a thousand years of struggle.  Relying on a combination of bits and pieces of advanced technology salvaged from the remains of great cities, as well as the still-pristine forest that they now call home, the people of Westerville are determined to rebuild a world in which peace, love, and cooperation mean more than victory, greed, and wealth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Blaine Anderson is the heir to the ruling seat of Westerville and, from birth, is destined for an arranged marriage—he must father an heir in order to ensure the line succession. When it becomes clear to his parents that his affections lie with his own sex, they make it their mission to find him a suitable—and potentially happy—match with a carrier who can return his interest.
> 
> Kurt Hummel is the son of Burt Hummel, Westerville's most well-known engineer. Though he has grown up far from the Andersons' manor in a small village to the north, his family has worked with the Andersons for generations, providing them with transportation vehicles, engines, machines, research, and repair work of all kinds. After the tragedy of losing his wife, Burt takes it upon himself to explain to Kurt that, since his birth, he has been sought after by the Andersons as a potential future husband for their son, because he is a carrier.
> 
> This is the story of Kurt and Blaine's betrothal, two year courtship, and how they start their family, but it is first and foremost the story of how a young boy from a small village grows into leadership, marriage, and parenthood at the same time as he grows into manhood, and how he discovers himself along the way.

Kurt's earliest memories are of flowers; wild blooms from the forests surrounding their home, uncommon ones that only flourish in neat rows in the garden behind their cabin because they are carefully tended by hand, and every other sort in between, a rainbow of delicacy giving off a perfume that you can find nowhere else.

"Thank goodness something smells sweeter than the oil haze around here," his mother jokes, turning a fondly judgmental eye toward the end of their property where his father's work sheds lie, open to the air, dusty and loud and chaotically arranged to his satisfaction.

Every time he thinks of flowers, he thinks of her.

It's not just the scent of them; it's the way that they feel like an extension of her, in some complex way, their vibrant colors and their never-ending crusade to flourish. He loves the way that some of them need nothing but soil and water and sun to climb as high as his waist, while others can hardly sprout roots in the high mountain air and require assistance to bloom only for a short while. 

She tells him their names, their growing seasons, and their meanings while he sits in her lap. They weave chains of blossoms that have fallen or grown to excess into ropes, filling the spaces in between the prettier ones with less attractive weeds, until his father comes to take Kurt by the hand and lead him to the sheds, so that he can learn the ways of engines and machines as well as he knows his way around the garden.

 

*

 

It is noteworthy enough, one might think, to be born into the twelfth generation of the descendants of the refuges who had survived a war so devastating that it had driven the few who'd survived it into the remaining habitable wilderness that the east coast of North America had left to offer. 

To be raised on stories of skyscrapers and bridges, of cities filled with thousands upon thousands of people, of television and high fashion and the Internet—but also on stories of a chemical and biological warfare so brutal that there had been no "right" side, in the end, just power hungry people who'd built armies and created weapons and experimented with genetics in a desperate attempt to win a war that could not be won.

To Kurt, however, this is simply the history of his family, of his people. 

The first story that he hears as a young child is the story of their family's "escape"; of how they'd survived because they'd gone underground early, and had only made it out of the city before the last bomb fell because his ancestors had managed to secure access to a vehicle detached from the surveillance network mere days before it happened. A series of lucky events had meant the survival of their family as well as the birth of their future legacy—ever after the Hummels were associated with machines and transportation.

By contrast, the world they live in today is pristine and beautiful, and Burt and Elizabeth Hummel have built a world of safety and love up around their son.

Kurt, at that age, only understands the stories to a certain extent, and when they make him scared he doesn't want to understand them at all, even though he knows that they are important.

But there are good things, too, things that he likes to think about.

He understands that he loves bright colors and carefully arranged toys and the smell of his mother's hair and his father's strong embraces. He understands that he loves building things and the way that the forest comes to life when it's warm and bright. He understands that he likes playtime best when he's on his own, because the village children are sometimes unkind and use words that upset him. He understands that he loves the yellow roses that his mother has always sewn into his clothing and painted on his walls. He understands that he loves the stories about love and dashing heroes that she reads to him before he goes to bed every night. 

As he grows, these stories become more and more important to him. He asks his mother if, one day, he might find a boy just like the one in these stories, who will want to have adventures with him. She kisses his hair and tells him that she is quite sure that he will, but that if he wants to be strong enough to go looking for this boy, he should probably learn to heed his bedtime.

 

*

 

When Kurt is eight years old, his mother doesn't survive the birth of his baby brother or sister.

Everything changes, or seems to, at least—but what Kurt doesn't know is that things have been different for him since more or less the moment that he had come into the world.

 

*

 

The Westerville province, in which the Hummels' village resides, is patronized by the Anderson family. In their world, patron families preside over the lives of every citizen in their province. They control the flow of labor and sharing of goods that ensures that every person who resides within their borders is employed, fed, and housed. It is both a burden and a privilege that has been handed down the family line, generation to generation. 

Some say that the ruling families hold these positions because they were affluent, upper class people in the world Before the War, while others say that they were most likely the first organized groups of people to guide fleeing refugees during the exodus from New York City.

Much like Kurt, Blaine Anderson is a member of the twelfth generation of his family.

But while Kurt is no more than a warm bundle in his mother's arms, Blaine is already a ten year old boy telling his parents that, when he grows up, he is going to find himself a good man to be his husband, just like his mother had found his father. 

This cues a somewhat awkward conversation between Blaine's parents—not because it is a problem, but because it simply requires that they rearrange their plans. Those who prefer the company of their own sex are by no means a vast minority in their world, but they are also not a majority. They are embarrassed to admit that they had assumed their son would one day want a wife. This is a misstep and, as supportive and loving parents, they want to adjust their course.

"Shall we wait, just to be sure?" Blaine's father asks his wife. 

It would be problematic if they began making marriage contract offers and then had to retract them later.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Blaine's mother answers, quite firmly.

 

*

 

Population growth is slow and infant mortality is high—because of this, it is vital that families arrange marriages, where possible. An early, assured formation of family groups leads to the increased probability of children being born to younger, healthier adults, which in turn gives those children as well as their parents a better shot at longevity. This is especially important in ruling families; for them, inheritance through blood lines is everything.

Thankfully, this doesn't mean that Blaine will be forced into a union with someone for whom he can't feel any romantic attraction.

One of the only ironically positive things to come out of the horrors of the wartime scientific experimentation that their ancestors endured had been the invention of carriers—biological males capable of carrying children. 

These carriers—boys born with the addition of a fertile, synthetic womb organ that requires only semen to complete conception—are uncommon but not rare in their world. The science behind their existence is still largely a mystery, as most of the information about the experiments that had led to their creation had been lost in the exodus.

Still, with misunderstood diseases and birth defects and pregnancy failure all so prevalent in their world, carrier and biological female pregnancy are both troublesome in their own ways and so, in the end, neither is truly preferable to the other.

"We'll have to find him a carrier—not only one close to his own age, but one who enjoys their own sex, as well," Blaine's father says.

He worries that Blaine may not have many options considering the nature of this combination of requirements and, more than anything, he wants his son to be happy with his choice.

Blaine has always been destined for an arranged marriage, of course, as heir to the province, but the final decision to marry is his and his intended's alone, and there is no reason why they should not find happiness together. But with so few likely boys among their already small population...

"They're out there," Blaine's mother reassures him. "We'll send a doctor along with the census takers and find them soon enough."

 

*

 

Not long after Kurt's mother passes, Burt sits him down in the work shed, motions to the piles of metal and half-built transports and tools and asks, "You know where all of this goes, right?"

Kurt, clutching a bouquet of wild flowers against his face, his young mind and body a blank of inexpressible grief, answers, "The Andersons, Dad. You build things and fix things and then they make sure it goes where people need it."

"That's right," Burt says, sitting down beside him. "We gotta talk, okay? I know that you're sad. I'm real sad, too, and I miss your mom, and—we were going to have this talk with you together, but she had to leave us, so—I promise that I'll do my best."

Kurt begins to cry before he understands why he's sad. That's been happening a lot lately. He isn't embarrassed to cry around his dad, though, so he just sniffles and buries his face in the flowers that he's holding, breathing their comforting scent in. 

"Whatcha mean?" he asks.

"You understand why mom left us, son? You understand that it was because the baby in her belly grew wrong, hurt her insides, so bad that there was nothing we could do to fix it?"

Kurt nods, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. He wraps his skinny arms around his legs and stares up at his father with wide, wet, blue-green eyes. "'Cause babies don't always make it. 'Cause since the war people and babies get sick and sometimes we don't know why."

"That's right." Burt sighs, puts a hand on Kurt's soft brown hair and draws him closer. "There's something about you, Kurt, that makes you real special. It—it's because of what some people did during the war. We explained to you about the experiments, how scientists were doing stuff to people to figure out ways to win the war, messing with their bodies, right?"

Kurt doesn't like this already. He feels sad and worried, and he doesn't like the way that his dad's looking at him. People with messed up bodies usually got sick, and sometimes they even had to leave, just like his mom had had to leave him and his dad.

"Am—am I messed up, Dad? Am I sick? Am I gonna have to leave, too?" he asks, and by the time he finishes asking he's crying again.

"No, you're not sick, not at all," Burt reassures him, reaching out to pull him into a hug, which instantly makes him feel better. "But you're special. You've got something inside of your belly that not all boys have. You've got—you've got a part inside of you, the part that lets people grow babies."

Kurt does not have much difficulty accepting the idea, though it seems funny to him, because his dad has said so, and therefore it must be the truth.

"Am I gonna make a baby now?" he asks, feeling squirmy and confused at the idea.

Burt smiles. "You could be a daddy one day, if you want, sure—just with the baby in your belly, instead of another person's."

"I guess that's okay," Kurt says. 

But he doesn't understand why they are talking about this; he doesn't love anyone the way that his dad had loved his mom, so he isn't going to be making any babies, and if he isn't going to do that real soon, why does his dad need to explain it to him today?

"The thing is, Kurt, there's another boy out there who knows just how special you are, and their family came to talk to me about you, right after you were born." This gets Kurt attention. It sounds like the beginning of a story. "Their doctors took a look at you, and found out that you had that special part inside of you. They talked to your mom and me about—about that boy, their son, Blaine Anderson, and about how he's looking for a boy just like you to be his husband one day when you are both grown ups."

"Like a contract?" Kurt asks. "Like when Beth from the bakery promised Tuck that she'd come and live with his family when she was bigger?"

"Yes, just like that."

"I don't wanna leave you, Dad," Kurt says, his eyes filling up yet again. He knows that there's more to contracts than that, but it's the first thing that he thinks of, and it's devastating to him.

"Oh, son, no, no. It wouldn't be for a long time. And—and it might not even be for sure. You might not like this boy, or you might not want to be a husband or a daddy and if you don't, you're allowed to say no. Contracts are only when people agree to something, right?"

"Right," Kurt answers, biting his lip. His stomach is even more achy now, but this concept makes sense to him, and so he tries to act brave.

"Well, now, you know that I'm the best darned mechanic in this whole province, right?" Burt asks, trying for a smile, which he promptly earns.

"The best ever!"

"So, of course, you were at the top of their list. 'Burt Hummel's son', they said. 'I bet that kid is amazing'."

"You're joking," Kurt says, grinning, always happy to catch his dad in one of those.

Burt smiles, ruffling Kurt's hair. "Yeah, I am. Just wanted to see that smile." Kurt smiles wider, and adjusts his bangs with a playful flick of his fingers, which he knows his dad thinks is funny. Burt holds Kurt closer. "So, these folks, they told your mom and me that they'd check in every now and then with us, to see if maybe you might want to know more about their son. We weren't sure. I mean, yes, they are good people, the Andersons. They take care of the villages and they do a real good job of it. But—we didn't want to decide for you, because you weren't old enough to speak for yourself. So we told them that we'd only talk about it when you were bigger—big enough at least to know what you might like. Once we got the feeling that you—liked boys, we decided we should talk to you about it, to see how you felt. But we never got the chance to tell you about it together, and then your mom died, Kurt, and you and me were both so sad—"

"But you did tell me," Kurt says, confused.

Burt tilts his head. "We did?"

"I asked Mommy when I'd have a boy, like in the stories, and like when she met you, and she told me I would. We used to make the yellow roses into chains and perfume and put the petals everywhere and I read in one of my papers that the Andersons use a yellow rose as their sig—syn—symbol, and—and she told me about Blaine, and I don't know, Dad, but he sounded like the boys in those stories an awful lot to me. So—so she did tell me, I think."

Burt sighs. "You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"

Kurt bangs his heels against the rungs of the chair that he's sitting on. 

He likes being smart, and he likes when he gets something right, like a riddle or a joke, but he's also a mess of feelings. He misses his mommy. He doesn't know what it feels like not to miss her, not to feel his chest hurt every time he thinks about her. He still wakes up every day wondering when she's going to come home, and every time he remembers that she isn't he feels so sad, and nothing makes him feel better, except maybe his dad's hugs.

His dad looks sad now, too, so he offers one of his own hugs. Maybe they will help him to not be sad.

"The Andersons' son," his dad says. "He's older than you, so it's gonna be a little while before you can meet, but he's—he's definitely a nice boy, Kurt. Maybe he's the one you're looking for."

 

*

 

When Kurt is ten years old Burt, completely sure of his son's interest in boys and also that Kurt has recovered enough from the loss of his mother to handle another major life change, finally relents and sends a message to the Andersons. They reply by sending a friendly, round-faced man named Trent to meet with Burt one afternoon when Kurt is out running errands.

The man comes prepared with Kurt's medical records and a pre-contract that states that they are entering into negotiations for a future marriage contract and that, from now until Kurt is sixteen years old, neither family will sign a marriage contract for their sons with any other family. 

Because of the poorly understood nature of carrier biology, part of the pre-contract also asks that Burt attempt to ensure that Kurt remains a virgin, uneducated in the ways of reproductive biology as well as sex in general.

For a father, this is difficult to accept.

Burt knows that the request is simply the result of caution; Kurt could get pregnant his first time having sex, as prophylactics have been more or less nonexistent since the war, despite repeated attempts to replicate them, and male carriers don't have the benefit of ovulation and menstruation cycles to let them know something about what is going on inside of their bodies.

This is not even to mention that pregnancy and childbirth are both serious medical risks. 

Teenagers typically become sexually active in their society around age thirteen, and Burt doesn't want Kurt to have to go through a pregnancy at such a young age any more than the Andersons do. Marriage contract or no, he would have had to address the issue with his son in the very near future—the betrothal negotiations simply make it a matter of contractual obligation.

Burt is terrified of making the wrong choices for his son. But Kurt won't be a child forever. Most people in their world are married and in work training programs by the age of sixteen; Kurt doesn't have much time before that responsibility is laid on his shoulders.

The Andersons are quality leaders; Burt trusts them. He's worked closely with their engineers and scientists for years now, though he has never had the pleasure of a face to face introduction with the pair themselves, and he knows that Kurt would be safe and happy on their compound. He would be educated well beyond what Burt and Lima could provide, and would be given every possible opportunity to succeed at leadership

But it will only happen if Kurt likes Blaine—only if he's willing to be betrothed—and he's still far too young to decide that on his own. This is Burt's last logical protest to the idea, and Trent assures him that unless both Kurt and Blaine agree to the match, it won't happen.

 

*

 

At ten, Blaine had found the notion of an arranged marriage confusing—he had not been able to grasp the difference between one kind of marriage and another.

At fourteen he had taken his first lover and had begun to understand different kinds of love, and the various boxes that one could sort them into.

He'd lost himself in the pleasures of the flesh, and the idea of a child who he had never met being set aside for his eventual partnership had seemed distant and unreal in comparison with the touch of another boy's hands on his body. He'd always craved affection and attention, of the sort that he could actually, physically receive, and had never had any trouble finding it.

At twenty, he is a more settled, reliable young man in possession of a pretty face and a sweet nature. He's outgoing and quick to learn, though not overly bookish, can befriend just about anyone he meets, and has taken to managing the Anderson family's interests like a fish to water. 

When he thinks of Kurt, which he does often, he has doubts.

Kurt is a child. Kurt may not even like him when they do finally meet. Kurt may resent him for needing him for the organ that he carries instead of for the pleasure of his mind or the gift of his heart. Kurt may have a childhood sweetheart that he has no desire to leave. Kurt may change his mind about wanting marriage and parenthood and the career path of leadership a thousand times over before he reaches maturity, and he has every right to do so.

But there comes a day when Trent returns from a visit to Lima, and Blaine knows that something has happened. He isn't surprised when his parents present him with the betrothal pre-contract. He traces the looping scrawl of Burt Hummel's signature at the bottom with a curious fingertip. Kurt's signature is absent, of course, because it isn't required at this stage—he is too young, and this is only a pre-contract—but worry tugs at Blaine's heart.

Still, a pre-contract is a commitment, and when he writes his name at the bottom of the paper, he decides that it is time to put aside the dalliances of youth and reserve his body for Kurt's future pleasure alone, even if he is not yet able to commit the parts of himself that truly matter.

 

*

 

Kurt from age twelve to age fifteen tries Burt's patience in ways that he often can't deal with. 

In so many ways, Kurt is the best son that a father could hope for—he is smart, talented, and loving—but puberty turns him into another person seemingly overnight, and Burt isn't sure why he wasn't more prepared. It's true that Liz had always been better at handling this sort of thing than he had, but he's been doing a damned fine job thus far, if he does say so himself.

All at once Kurt is as moody as a cat in heat. He oversleeps, shirks his chores, and complains about quite literally everything. He's lazy about his lessons, moans constantly about body aches, changes his mind about what he wants and feels and intends to do every three minutes, and it seems that he disagrees with Burt often just for the sake of being contrary. Suddenly nothing about their life is acceptable—not the clothes they wear, or the house they live in, or the food they eat, or the weather, or their customers, or how they run their business.

They fight, often and heatedly, which they haven't done regularly since Kurt was six and didn't understand bedtime. 

Despite this, they manage to complete the work that needs to be done in order to keep their home and the business running, as well as to meet the terms of their trade agreement with the Andersons. It's a lot of work, and even though Burt has hired on a hand to help them with the heavy lifting, he and Kurt still end up working themselves to the bone from sun up until sun down.

All the while, exhausted and frazzled, Burt still manages to relay information about Blaine Anderson to his son in age-appropriate parcels. They talk about what Blaine does for his family. They discuss his hobbies—horse riding being the chiefest—and his habits, his looks and his personality. As Kurt gets older, the "looks" part of the conversation gets longer. Burt can't help but be amused.

"You're trying to tell me that there isn't a single drawing or painting of this man _anywhere_?" he asks incredulously.

"What does it matter, huh? You gonna say no if he's not some dazzlingly good-looking guy?" Burt asks.

Kurt, who has inherited Liz's heart and emotional depths as well as Burt's dry sense of humor answers, "If we're going to have ugly babies, I think that I have the right to know now."

Burt can't stop the laugh that bursts out of him at that. It's either that or cry, to be honest. 

Time is going by so fast. 

He misses the days when Kurt would sit wide-eyed and breathless, scratching at his skinned knees and hanging on every word that he said about Blaine. Now, after years of nothing but talk, Kurt has grown dissatisfied.

He now says things like "I suppose that I should prepare myself for the possibility of warts" and "At least I know how to stitch a quick sack if I need to toss one over his head" and "Do you really think he knows how to play the piano? I hear they've got one in their house but how do we _know_?" and "Are you sure they aren't exaggerating how kind he is?" until Burt wants to scream. 

He wishes that this process involved more meeting and less long-distance yapping, but with the age gap between their sons as pronounced as it is, both families are concerned that meeting too soon might lead to the boys becoming fraternally instead of romantically attached, and so they had all agreed to wait until Kurt is sixteen, just to be safe, before moving him to the compound to begin the actual courtship.

Some days Burt isn't sure whether he's dreading or looking forward to the day.

 

*

 

Burt sets down the pre-contract on the table one night after dinner. 

Kurt, now fifteen, has read the summary page a dozen times, but has never been permitted to read the entire thing. The thought of possibly being allowed to ransack the document cuts his attitude in half before his dad even says a word.

"So," he says, putting his hands on the table. "Are they finally going to let us meet?"

"The traditional way of doing this," Burt says, in a _if you interrupt me there will be consequences, young man_ tone of voice, "is that at sixteen, you move onto the Anderson compound. Not into the big house—you get a little place of your own, a small distance away. From there, you make friends, get tutored, measured for fancy new clothes, and the like. Once a month you go on chaperoned dates with Blaine, for a full year, until you turn seventeen. And then, if you're both sure that you want to get married, you move into the manor house, and your monthly dates become weekly dates—still chaperoned, of course."

"Of course," Kurt parrots. "Let me guess: and then I turn eighteen, we get married, and I start popping out little Andersons."

His dad doesn't look pleased with his tone. The truth is, he's being sarcastic because he's as excited as he is terrified and he isn't sure how to tell his dad that, or if he even wants to.

He has been dreaming of Blaine since he was a little boy. He's been drawing the Anderson rose since before he even knew how to write his own name. And for some time now, he has been imagining what it might be like to exchange kisses with a man who he has never met.

In addition to that, he is restless.

He loves his dad. He loves their home and the work that they do for the province. But lately, all he can think about is change. He wants to experience new things, see new faces, visit new places. He wants the chance to figure out what he's good at. He has a knack for the family business but no true passion for it, and he thinks that his dad knows that by now. There are so many hobbies that he has never had the time to indulge, so many papers that he hasn't read, so many questions that his dad won't—or can't—answer for him.

"Look," Burt says, smiling. "I gotta be honest; I'd rather you have an attitude about this than sit there like a lump on a log. But this is your future, Kurt. So show it some respect, alright?"

Kurt gives in. He's too eager to hear more to argue. "Gotcha. So we've got a year."

"One more year of your full-time, well-adjusted company, yes."

"Okay, now who's being sarcastic?" Kurt asks. "I mean a year to find extra help. You need more people, Dad. An actual apprentice. Maybe two of them. You'll never keep up with the demand otherwise."

Burt nods. "You're right. I've put out a couple of feelers—even asked the Andersons' man to take a look for me. I'm sure there are plenty of smart kids out there who are good with their hands. Won't be the same, but you're almost a man now, and—you have to start living your own life."

 

*

 

"Now we've got this stuff on tap but you need to be careful with it, okay? It's not beer. Never handle it without gloves, not when it's in the barrel stage. Only after it's been through filtration—and then it's on to the glass."

"Don't scare him, Dad, you'll just make him drop it or something," Kurt says, breezing through the shed with a delivery in his arms as his father teaches Finn Hudson about the corn oil that runs most of their machinery. 

He jokingly mimes a "boom" motion with his hands, and Finn's face goes pale.

"Don't you have some parts you're supposed to be sorting?" Burt asks him.

Kurt, face still warm from earning a glance from Finn, ducks into the stock room without a reply. 

It's been hard on him since Finn and his mother Carole moved into the cabin that Burt had built for them on the edge of the Hummels' property; he's never been domestically cozy with a good looking boy who was also close to his own age before.

His dad's new apprentice and he have nothing in common but he's a sweet boy, always ready to help, always willing to talk even though he isn't a particularly skilled conversationalist, and he towers over Kurt in both height and width, making Kurt's skin go hot and his pulse pick up every time that they're close. 

Kurt has no idea what to do with these feelings, so he does nothing. He's sure that Finn isn't interested in him, not that way, and even if he were, Kurt couldn't act on it, for obvious reasons.

After finishing his afternoon task, Kurt sits on an empty parts box in the corner of the stock room, mopping the sweat off of his forehead with a handkerchief. He traces the tiny yellow roses that are stitched around the border of the cloth with his fingertip and thinks of Blaine.

Having a fantasy image of a stranger in your head that you've been developing since your earliest memory is indeed a strange thing, Kurt thinks, especially when you know that meeting them in the near future is all but a guarantee.

Most folks at least get to acquaint themselves with their intended before the question of commitment is raised. Kurt supposes that he isn't "most", and tries to feel good about that—his dad has always told him that he's special. 

He puts a hand to his belly, and wonders.

 

*

 

"It's a bit of an eyesore, isn't it?" Blaine's father asks, tilting his head at the transport sitting in the shed ahead of them.

"They tell me that the revised model due this Spring is a bit curvier," Blaine says. "Burt let his son at the specs and he made some interesting aesthetic changes that improved the performance as well."

There's a pause in which their breath plumes in the cold air, and Blaine's father smiles behind the curve of his fur-lined hood, and then he teases, "You're blushing."

Blaine smiles as he guides his horse around the transport's shiny metal hood. "Apparently my husband-to-be is a bit of a genius. I am allowed to blush when I brag, Father."

"I agree," Blaine's father says. "You should be honest with Kurt, though; he's entitled to know sooner rather than later that you prefer horseflesh to cogs and wheels."

Blaine laughs, and hangs his head. "You think I ought to? What if this knowledge drives him out of my arms right at the start?"

"Nonsense. It works out splendidly. He'll handle the transport sheds, and you can keep tabs on the horse master."

"Or it may turn out to be one of many things about me that he doesn't care for," Blaine says, his horse stomping in the cold, jostling the heavy winter clothes around both of their forms. 

"That sort of thinking does not a marriage build, son."

"Your logic is as inescapable as the temperature," Blaine admits, with gentle but apparent humor.

They guide their horses around the sheds, trying to keep to the trodden horse paths, waving to workers and stopping here and there to talk to the lead and assistant engineers. Blaine's father has no particular reason to be with him today—but he often shows up to "assist" when he simply wants to spend some time with his son. It's early enough in the season for them to still be able to make rounds on horses, and Blaine wants to enjoy every minute of the fresh—if freezing—air, before the blizzard season drives them inside.

Every time that they visit the sheds together, his father makes a joke about the transport they'd tried to rebuild together when Blaine had been much younger—it had been a disaster. 

It is true that Blaine will always choose a horse to get himself around; he has developed deep connections to the horses that he rides, having raised most of them himself from foals, and vastly prefers their warm intelligence to the messy, cold clatter of transports.

He wonders if this philosophical difference will be the source of his first argument with Kurt and, strangely enough, finds the thought so endearing that he can't help but smile to himself.

Such lines of thought have been the only way to keep his ever-growing curiosity about Kurt at bay for quite some time now. Though he receives reports about Kurt's activities often, they are vague and unsatisfying, utterly devoid of personality; knowing so little about Kurt has become a torment.

At twenty-five, Blaine's hunger for romance is more mature in expression than it had been when he was a teenager but, for all that, and for Kurt especially, it is no kinder. He's desperate—desperate for more of Kurt, and so eager for their meeting now, that he worries no reality will do justice to the fantasy of Kurt that he has nurtured in his imagination since he was a boy.

He knows that Kurt is ten years his junior. He knows that Kurt is an innocent in many ways. He knows that Kurt is intelligent and witty. He knows that Kurt is good with his hands, creative, loves clothing and baubles, loves flowers and music. He knows that Kurt is at home at a sewing table as he is at a drafting table, that he is as thirsty for historical knowledge as he is for information on the latest trends in fashion. 

And yet—is it likely that Kurt is all of the things that they tell him he is? Blaine isn't sure if he can trust his heart in this, as his heart tends to ignore his head more often than not.

After they return their horses to the stables, Blaine and his father walk the frozen, hard-packed dirt and gravel path back up to the manor, quiet until the stone-and-wood rise of the house blocks out a vision of the snowy, forested mountains that loom behind it on all sides.

"Was there something else?" he asks, on a hunch.

"Kurt turns sixteen next May. His father has begun to prepare him for what's to come. I thought we might have a similar conversation."

They walk through the entrance hall and take a side corridor into the kitchens, where a slender man in an apron greets them and asks whether they would prefer beer or milk with supper.

"Firstly," Blaine's father says, as they sit down to eat, "I assume that you are in agreement? That you wish to move ahead with the contract?"

Heart in his throat, Blaine nods. "I've been ready for a long time." Blaine's cheeks go warm. His father is hardly unaware of how long he's waited, of how fond he's grown of Kurt from a distance, but Blaine understands why he is asking—it is something that Blaine must be sure of. "I'm sure. I'm—quite sure. That is, as long as Kurt's interest is the same."

"It is, by all accounts."

"The only account I care about is his."

"The answer is the same. Yes. He is ready, according to Burt." Blaine's father chews. "His father will have solid apprenticeship in training by the time that he leaves home, as well as plans to have Kurt serve as a bridge between himself and the engineers here. I think that it will improve the speed of trade as well as production levels, having a Hummel working with them so closely."

"Kurt doesn't wish to make a lifetime's work of mechanics, I thought?" Blaine asks. The last thing he wants is for Kurt to be forced into industries that he has no interest in.

"He may pursue whatever he wishes," Blaine's father says. "But we should take advantage of the connection and his talents before he begins to bear children. Those sheds are no place for a pregnant individual. The chemical fumes alone—" He pauses, and then adds, "To be honest, it's my hope that once Burt's apprentice becomes his replacement, we'll be able to convince him to join his son here. I've always wanted to move Burt's expertise closer to home, possibly even make a thorough record of his knowledge, but when we first put this to him he had just settled with his family and was concerned about the effect that their absence would have on the village."

"Have you discussed this with him?"

Blaine's father smiles. "Good god, Blaine, I'm not looking to purchase the fellow through his son like a milk cow at market. Yes, we have discussed it, once or twice, since the marriage negotiations began. He's excited about the chance to make substantial changes to the province transport roads, but he won't budge himself until Kurt has had some time to grow independent of him here."

"You'd have Burt at our chamber door the very evening of the marriage," Blaine teases.

"Give me more credit than that," Blaine's father says, laughing. "I'd wait until the morning after, at least!"

The kitchen staff works around them, hardly paying them any attention. Blaine breathes in the smell of roasting meat and baking bread and woodsmoke and feels content.

"I want Kurt to feel welcome," he says, by way of breaking the silence. "I don't want to overwhelm him with formality, or make him feel as if he has to change to fit in." He wipes his mouth on a napkin. "I want him to feel at home, even before we decide on marriage."

Blaine's father sips his drink, stares at Blaine for several heartbeats before answering, "It is two years from the day of his arrival to the marriage, if it occurs. That is plenty of time to make him feel welcome. And if the match does not please you both, he has his choice of jobs on the compound, as does any member of his family." He clears his throat. "But—I do hope that it works out. I can see that you are already growing attached to the idea."

Blaine knows that his parents' primary concern is his happiness, but he also knows that they've all taken a serious risk, waiting for Kurt to turn eighteen before they marry. Blaine, at twenty-eight, will be far past what their people consider to be his prime breeding years, and if they do not wish to marry each other, or they do and cannot produce an heir...

The search for another carrier would have to begin again, immediately, and no part of Blaine wants that. His father is correct; he has grown attached.

 

*

 

The exchange of tokens is Blaine's idea. 

It's a compromise that pushes the limits of the betrothal customs; strictly speaking, they aren't supposed to exchange messages of any kind, and the nature of gifts, after all, is communication in symbolic form. But Blaine's parents approve of the idea, after some discussion; they can see how eager their son is to know Kurt and have Kurt know him in return.

The first token arrives on a cool morning, the transport driver smiling and waving as he hands off the package to Finn, who then joins Burt, Kurt, and Carole at the breakfast table. The wax seal in the shape of the Anderson rose on the side of the package is the first thing that Kurt sees, and he almost manages to snatch it before his dad does.

"You know the rules," Burt says.

Kurt chomps sullenly on a mouthful of eggs.

Finn shoves half a slice of toast into his mouth and tries to lean over Burt's shoulder, obviously curious. Kurt gives him a cross look that says "Traitor—you could have just given it to me and then we'd both have known". Finn shrugs ("What?"). Kurt refocuses his glare ("Forget it, Finn!").

Burt palms the note that's attached to the outside of the package and then, to everyone's surprise, hands the box to Kurt.

"Seems like our Blaine has some new ideas about courtship."

Kurt bites his lip and bounces in his chair, almost unable to stifle the noise that he makes.

"Well," Carole says, excitedly, "open it!"

Kurt holds his breath through the unwrapping, and then releases it all in one go when the most beautiful outfit that he has ever seen reveals itself from under the brown paper that lines the box. 

It's not something that he would have imagined for himself—it's more formal than he usually tailors his clothes, but there's no doubt that it would fit him perfectly. 

The shirt is made of the lightest cotton, pale blue with short sleeves and a jaunty collar, with laces and buttons alternating in layers down the front flaps. The pants are fitted, dark brown, with a tighter weave than the shirt, and decorative drawstrings around the ankles. The accents on both pieces show the very faintest stitching of yellow roses down their edges. There's a leather tag on the inside of the back of the pants that has been burned with Kurt's initials. 

It's intentionally rustic in style and yet cleanly made, obviously meant to withstand the elements—but there's something almost whimsical about the drape of it. 

Kurt has never seen anything exactly like it before and, for the first time, he feels that he can sense Blaine's personality, sweet and boyish, in the piece; if he inhales deeply enough he thinks that perhaps he can even smell him, woodsmoke and grass with floral notes hidden underneath. 

A flush steals across his skin. It's almost too private a reaction for the breakfast table, and he realizes that he's clutching the fabric between his fingers and breathing heavily. 

"Oh," Carole breathes. "That's beautiful. I haven't seen a weave that even in years. And that blue—I can't decide whether it's supposed to mimic the sky, or deep water, or—"

"Or my eyes," Kurt says breathlessly. He is impressed, and he can't conceal it.

"So," Finn says. "This guy is pretty good, huh?"

Burt laughs into his mug. Carole grins. Kurt can't help but smile. 

"Well," Kurt says, stroking the garment, "his tailor and weavers are good—but I also feel like he's trying to show me that he knows something about me already, with this."

"Is he right?" Burt asks.

"It's a start," Kurt answers, unable to stop smiling.

 

*

 

Blaine receives Kurt's first token several weeks later. 

The package is a welcome surprise after a stressful day; his direct reports had been difficult throughout and then, after supper, a former lover had turned up and persisted in keeping him from the only thing that he'd wanted at the time—to retire to bed alone.

It was the "alone" part that had caused some difficulty.

The handful of boys-now-turned-men who have had the pleasure of his company in the past are aware of the courtship between he and Kurt, and most of them have been happy to honor it. The man who had approached him tonight is obviously not a member of that group. Blaine had had to rebuke him in a manner that was almost uncivilized—in public, no less—and he's still frazzled when he sits down to go through the mail over evening tea with his mother.

She watches him unwrap the package, eyebrows raised. "He isn't writing you, I hope? You know that you aren't to—"

"No, no," Blaine says, unraveling twine. "Just—gifts, as I said." 

He tries to hide the trembling of his fingers as he opens the wooden box. 

The scent of flowers, oil, and mountain air that wafts from the box works its way through his chest, undoing several of the knots that his day had left him with. It's like briefly experiencing, with all of his senses, stepping out into a forest clearing on Kurt's land. He inhales deeply.

Inside of the box he finds a mechanical toy horse made of metal, fully articulated and approximately the length of his hand. It is remarkable—the perfect likeness of a stallion, its inner workings as delicate and complex as a clock. 

The eyes of the horse are made of chips of shining black rock, and its tail and hooves are lined with the same. The mane is twisted so finely into cascading rivulets that for a moment Blaine thinks it must be string or fabric and not metal at all. 

Blaine winds the turnkey on the side with childlike anticipation and lets out a soft noise of surprise when the horse's mechanical feet and tail begin to move, and a tinkling melody begins to play from within the depths of its body. 

The tune is one that he recognizes; it's popular in the Northern villages. It is as bold as it is rustic, its tone conveying pride as easily as melancholy. Blaine feels his throat close up with emotion.

His mother is staring at him. He realizes that his eyes are misted over, and blinks to clear them. 

"That is exquisite," she says, clearly impressed. "I wonder if Kurt made it himself?"

Blaine knows without a doubt that Kurt had, and his hands shake with the knowledge. He feels as if he looked up, Kurt could be in the room with them—the sense of connection is that clear. 

He traces the laughing line of the horse's half-open mouth with his thumb, and takes several deep breaths to compose himself. 

"I am sure that he did," he says, finally.

Shortly after his mother leaves him, with a smile and a kiss to his forehead, he sits in the flickering firelight, and wonders at the fact that a gift from a boy who he has never even met has made him feel things that no other man has ever made him feel before.

The melody of Kurt's people stays with him that night, into sleep and beyond.

 

*

  
[](http://hopelesslydevotedgleek.tumblr.com/post/89206712560/the-anderson-rose-blaine-anderson-is-heir-to-the)

Now with art by the lovely [hopelesslydevotedgleek](http://hopelesslydevotedgleek.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

There are times when preparations for Kurt's arrival are humorously embarrassing. 

Blaine's parents are well-versed in tradition and consummate professionals—but they are also possessed of the belief that good humor breeds solidarity and so, Spring has hardly sprung before the house is flooded with jokes and wagers about the courtship.

What will Kurt and Blaine's first words to each other be? How long will it take for Blaine to make one of those horrendous jokes he is so fond of that will inevitably go right over Kurt's head? What will Kurt's reaction be when he drags Blaine off for a transport ride and realizes that Blaine can't stand the things? 

The most embarrassing for Blaine so far has been his father's wager with Trent—Blaine's right hand man, and also one of the two people slated to become Kurt and Blaine's chaperones as they go through their courtship.

He walks in on his father and Trent taking supper together one night, a little drunk. Blaine's father waves him over, ruffles his hair and pulls him into an embrace.

Trent points at him, laughing, and says, "I give it a week."

"Give what a week?" Blaine asks.

"I told your father—I give it a week before you and Kurt try to give me the slip."

"Trent," Blaine breathes, feigning offense. "You insult me."

"His expectations are generous," Blaine's father says, in completely dry humor. "Your mother has odds on three days."

Blaine groans. "Does no one have any faith in us?"

"You've waited almost six years, and have two more to go," his father says. "I commend you, I do. But—"

Trent smiles into his cup.

Blaine stares at him. "Is there something I should know?" he asks, eyebrows rising.

"It isn't about looks—it is never about looks, for god's sake," Blaine's father says. "What good is a pretty face in these times, eh?"

"Oh, come now," Trent replies, gesturing so suddenly that beer sloshes over the rim of his cup. "He already has Kurt's description, what's the harm in a little extra reassurance? You should hear some of the sarcasm that comes out of Kurt's mouth in regards to that topic—"

Blaine's father cast him a glare.

Trent deflates. "All I mean to say is, what's the crime in letting Blaine know how fairly puberty has treated to his husband-to-be?"

Blaine's face goes hot.

"Fifteen is an awkward age," Blaine's father admits. "Sixteen is kinder."

Trent, who shares an affinity with Blaine that Blaine's father does not share with either of them, says, "Allow me to do the talking in this particular situation. You aren't exactly set up to be a judge of male flesh, Jon, let's be truthful."

Blaine's father flushes, throws up his hands and says, "I suppose, I suppose."

But Blaine isn't sure that he cares for where this conversation is going.

"It's reductive and insulting to dwell so often on how the man looks," he says. "I am sure that if I knew he were sitting in front of his hearth discussing nothing but the width of my bicep or the fall of my hair I wouldn't care for it."

Trent smiles. "We're only teasing you with superficiality because we can't tell you anything else, and Kurt's arrival is months away. You've been the very model of patience. It doesn't please you to hear that he is considered beautiful?"

"It doesn't displease me, but—" He sighs, shrugs and rearranges his legs, smoothing his tunic over his knees with uneven passes of his fingertips. "I suppose as the day draws nearer and nearer I become more sensitive about it. I don't want anyone to think that I care whether Kurt is beautiful or common looking or even offensive to the eye. What if someone were to tell him that we have spent all this time chattering on about his looks? What if it upset him? What if it led him to believe that we were insensitive people?"

"You have always been so mature in that way," his father says. "You must get that from me. Your mother had a team of people waiting to restyle my hair and confiscate all of my old clothes the moment we were married."

Trent laughs, shaking his head. "Nonsense! I heard that she was entirely respectful and you were as nervous as a foal and between the two of you—"

"Slander," Blaine's father interrupts with a laugh, throwing a chicken bone across the table at him. "And if you've heard anything about the two of us getting as drunk as tinkers on a metal heap just to get through the wedding night, that story is also entirely false."

The truth is, if Blaine were simply courting a boy that he'd known all of his life on the compound, he'd be a mess of overly expressive gestures; he has always been a bit over the top when it comes to romance. But he doesn't have that option with Kurt, and so he finds himself being careful—some would even say conservative—in his talk of Kurt, measuring every word that he says and encouraging others to do the same.

This propriety also serves to hide the fact that, deep down inside, Blaine is aching to know Kurt, to touch him, to hold him and find out what makes him laugh and what makes him sad. And no, he can't deny that he lies awake at night wondering what might make his Kurt gasp and moan, what Kurt's body might look like bathed in firelight and sprawled across the length of his bed. 

But this all seems so far away, and even though their marriage is all but a guarantee at this point, Blaine does not want to assume that Kurt will desire him. He is not a particularly prudish man, but it seems to him immoral as well as misguided to take those nighttime thoughts too far.

"You are drunken fools tonight, both of you," Blaine sighs.

His father knows just how sensitive waiting for Kurt has made him.

"It is only months away now, my son," his father says, with a reassuring smile. "This is nothing compared to the years that you both have waited."

If only it felt that way.

 

*

 

Kurt's goodbye celebration is one of the most awkward village events that he has ever attended. 

For a variety of reasons—intimate business with the Andersons setting them apart socially, Kurt's childhood having been full of unpleasant experiences with village children, and later on his relatively sheltered home life after the marriage pre-contract had been signed—Kurt hasn't spent much time developing relationships in the village. 

Everyone knows their family, of course, works and trades with them, and the Hummels have even come to represent the village's interests in various ways across the province, but Kurt's personal relationship with the population of Lima as a whole has always been more business than pleasure. Most of the time, he is content with that. His dad, who has always put his needs first, has been accepting of that.

Tonight, the entire village has turned up to say goodbye to a young man who they have hardly said hello to, and that young man just feels overwhelmed and out of place. 

He must endure this, for his dad's sake—and, he supposes, for his village's, too.

The son of Lima's most successful citizen going off to marry the heir to the province is a once in a lifetime event and, even though there is nothing written about it in the marriage contract, it only makes sense that the Andersons will now have a special interest in this little village full of builders, engineers, and mechanics. Depending on Kurt's level of investment, they might even see direct rewards at his return visits, technology and information and goods that he may be able to pass onto them that will come his way simply by virtue of his new position. 

Two people tonight alone have asked Kurt if he will be looking to make any City Trade connections at the Anderson's compound.

Lust for City Trade in a village that makes its living off of technology is hardly a surprise. Kurt doesn't know if his work on the compound will put him in the path of any of these City Traders—village-less individuals who risk their health to plunder the ancient ruins of cities in an attempt to salvage artifacts, materials, and technology that can be re-purposed, rebuilt, or studied.

Though people desperately want to buy what they are selling, City Trade is considered dangerous, and most villages prefer to wait for these wares to be checked for safety at their ruling family's compound before buying them second-hand from vendors at the market there. The risk involved weighed against the high value of the items makes them very popular, of course.

Who knows what could be discovered from taking apart artifacts from their technologically advanced past? All it would require is one well-preserved item and their entire world could change overnight. 

Naturally, Kurt, as a child, had lost his mind at the idea, and had constantly begged his father to purchase this or that artifact for him on market days. Burt had only allowed Kurt to collect certain kinds of City Trade—things that he had used some unknown criteria to declare "clean tech". 

Access to City Trade is one of many perks that Kurt may enjoy once he marries Blaine. Their union is going to change the lives of the people who are drunkenly celebrating Kurt's departure all around him tonight. Despite the fact that Kurt has been preparing himself for this for years, he is still not sure how he feels about it.

Perhaps living apart from the village all of these years has denied him an understanding of his responsibility to them that he should have gained before leaving—but dwelling on that thought is like grieving a piece of food that's fallen into the fire; it comes too late, and serves no purpose.

All he knows is that he is tired, and has a long journey ahead of him tomorrow.

When the party begins to wind down, his dad finds him, sits beside him, but doesn't say anything. When Kurt can't resist the urge any longer, he puts his head on his dad's shoulder and lets the anxiety that he's feeling break up in his chest like chunks of ice in Spring-warmed river water.

"How you holding up?" Burt asks.

Kurt thinks about that and then says, "I'm exhausted. And I don't know who half of these people are."

Burt smiles. "Most of them you stopped seeing a long time ago. Not your fault. But they mean well. And they're all real excited. Can't blame them."

"I don't," Kurt says wearily. "I just wish that I could feel the sentiment as deeply as they seem to."

"You aren't excited?"

"No, I mean, the fond farewell—I wish I felt more for them. For what they're trying to say."

"Don't sweat it. Just be polite and remember their names."

Kurt gives him a strained smile. "I'm trying."

And then, in a tone that Kurt doesn't often hear, Burt says, "No, Kurt. Hey. Look at me. Remember their names," he repeats, with emphasis. "In a couple of years you're gonna be co-leader of this province, and you have a duty to every person in it. I don't believe in playing favorites, but you're gonna be special to these people whether you like it or not, and you need to decide what that means to you."

They've had this conversation before, but never quite like this. Kurt's throat hurts, all of the sudden—he swallows, and blinks away the burning behind his eyes.

"You're so young," Burt says, his eyes softening. "I—sometimes, I'm not sure what I'm doing when I say things like that to you."

"But you're right," Kurt says. "It's just so much to think about." He swallows. "And—it's difficult to concentrate on that when I can't stop thinking about—" He pauses too long.

"Thinking about?" Burt prompts.

"This sounds so stupid. But I—" His throat clamps up, and his eyes sting. "I want him, Dad. I haven't even met him but I feel like I—I just, I _want_ him. So badly that it hurts. And I'm terrified that the 'him' I want is a fantasy that I've built up in my head all of these years." He hides his cheek against his dad's shoulder and shudders. "What if I meet him and there's just—nothing? I'd rather hate him, I'd rather be disgusted by him, than—than _nothing_."

His dad grips his shoulders. "You don't have to marry him, Kurt. Remember that. Promise me that you'll remember that. There are other villages, other men, even if you have to look, or wait—or hell, just enjoy your life. You don't need someone else to complete you—I don't care what our traditions say. You can do whatever you're best at and be useful to the province—sew clothes or build things or make cheese, for all I care. As long as you're happy. And if anyone in that fancy house tells you different I'll tell them where they can shove it."

Kurt laughs, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I know, Dad. I know, and they do, too. You won't have to shove anything anywhere." Still, he can't help but find that mental image amusing.

He realizes, at some point in between his tears drying up and Burt calling for refills of their drinks, that this is it. This is his last night in this village as an ordinary citizen. 

Tomorrow he becomes a member of the Andersons' compound. Tomorrow he will stand in front of a crowd of people, recite words of greeting, and express his gratitude for the invitation to join a new house. Tomorrow he begins a new life and, if he and Blaine are extraordinarily lucky, he may also discover a new kind of love.

He shivers so violently at the thought of that last that his dad feels it.

"Kurt?" he asks, concerned.

"I'm terrified," he admits, for the first time in sixteen years. "Dad, I'm terrified."

"If you weren't, I'd worry," Burt replies, holding him closer.

They don't speak for a long time, and Kurt calms down enough to joke, "I don't suppose that this means you'll let me have some beer just once before I go?"

"Absolutely not," Burt says, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. "Nice try, though."

Kurt smiles, and manages to make it look genuine.

 

*

 

Blaine's usual duties are suspended this morning. 

He'd planned to keep himself distracted by attending a few meetings but, after dressing himself in the formal outfit that he will be wearing for the greeting ceremony, he sits down in his favorite chair opposite the dressing mirrors in his chambers and finds that he is simply—frozen. 

He's sweating even though his room is perfectly cool, his chest feels like there's a boulder resting on it and as he catalogs these things, he grows more and more dizzy. 

He thinks he might actually be sick. It's hitting him all at once. 

The day has arrived, and he's so nervous that he can't think straight.

He sits there, surrounded by rustic wooden walls and wooden furniture, contrasted so blatantly by notes of ancient technology—weak electric lamps and jagged heating vents and bits and bobs of brightly colored artifacts used as decorative items, hung on walls and lined up along shelves. 

It all looks slightly shoddy in the bright, unforgiving morning light.

He stares down at his hands, which are rough from regular horseback riding, and then at the bright red of his highly fashionable tunic, and feels like a contradiction himself.

When he doesn't come downstairs for breakfast, his mother comes to him.

She's dressed just as formally, in fine linen pants and a tunic edged with bright beading, her long, dark hair and hazel eyes so pretty against a variety of shades of white and off-white. She's holding a steaming mug of tea and a loaf of bread stuffed with cheese, and she sets the offering down as she sits across from him, her knees splaying wide to support the weight of her elbows.

"Feeling unwell?" she asks.

"If by 'unwell' you mean 'like a sickly child' then, yes, I feel unwell," he answers, reaching for the mug. The warmth of the ceramic against his fingers feels wonderful. "Thank you." He eats a few mouthfuls of the dried fruit and cheese filled bread, chasing each swallow with a swallow of tea, but that's all he can manage before his stomach begins to flutter. "I thought I was ready."

"You're nervous," she says.

He nods.

"Good," she replies. "That means that you care. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I'll be sure to explain that to Kurt after I throw up all over his shoes," Blaine says, half-jest and half-hysteria because, saying that, that he'll be talking with Kurt today, reminds him that he's going to be _talking with Kurt today_ , and his stomach lurches violently to the left. "Oh, my god, Mother, I—it's hours away. That's all that's left, and I—I'm going to see him, I'm going to hear him, I'm—" 

He shivers, puts his face in his hands, and jerks when she reaches out to wrap her fingers around his forearms. She makes a soft noise as she strokes his shoulder with her right hand. "By the time that we were married, I'd known your father most of my life. Though there was no actual contract until we were teenagers, we had been betrothed in our parents' minds since we were children. We did not love one another as married people do until some time after the deed was done, but with you, and with Kurt—despite the fact that you've never laid eyes on him, I think that you've loved him as long as you've known of him."

Blaine breathes out shakily, her words shivering through his flesh like a fever. He loves many things about Kurt, but he isn't sure that this counts as loving Kurt. "The idea of him, perhaps. I have always wanted a husband."

"You were always very flexible on the details of his personality and appearance, but there was one thing you insisted on," she says, smiling.

"'He mustn't like transports, Mother, because they are smelly and unreliable'," he finishes for her, and it makes him laugh, especially considering what Kurt's family does for a living. "I'll have to compromise there, I suppose."

She considers him briefly and then says, "You must not think of the Kurt in your head and the Kurt of reality as two distinct people, not after today," she advises, growing serious again. "If you do not break that habit, you risk these two men remaining different and separate in your heart, and you will never be able to love the one who will stand in front of you today."

"And even if I can do that, what if I'm not good enough in his eyes? What if he doesn't want me?"

"Then you will find another who does, because you are a remarkable person, and you deserve someone who recognizes that."

"Even—even with the issue of an heir—"

"Hush," she says, tapping his leg. "Without a happy home, heirs become hollow concepts. Build the home first, Blaine; we have plenty of time to worry about inheritance later." She smiles wryly. "Just don't tell your father that I said that. He's already going on about grandchildren."

Blaine laughs, and then asks her with a soft smile, "Don't you want grandchildren?"

She shrugs. "I've plenty to be getting on with. I'd much rather you have children because you and your husband would like to have them." She smiles patiently. "We do need an heir; I can't change that. But Kurt is very young; I do not feel that it's going to become an issue."

He hesitates. He doesn't want to upset her. "The thought of possibly losing him to childbirth—"

"Oh," she breathes, dismayed, tightening her hand on his. "Why are you having these thoughts today, my son?"

"I'm speaking nonsense," he says, bowing his head. "I'm afraid."

She draws him into an embrace—he shrinks against her, feeling like a little boy again. "Today is a joyous day. You and Kurt are just beginning—don't think of death. Think of life instead."

He knows that she's right, and only wishes that this attitude were easier for him to adopt. Despite this, he rests his head on her chest and feels some of his negativity recede.

"Will you help me with all the sashes and baubles? I'm going to prick myself on these pins and bleed all over my clothes otherwise."

She smiles, drawing his hands into hers, and then helps him up. "I would love to."

 

*

 

Kurt's dad insists on driving the transport. He only relents to this when Burt agrees to swapping every couple of hours. Kurt, in all honesty, hardly has the presence of mind to argue even this simple detail; he is already hours into a bout of terrified anticipation that has left him feeling useless since he woke up. 

Waving goodbye to Finn and Carole had been difficult; staring at the empty shell of the bedroom that he'd slept in his whole life had been difficult. Petting the cat, the cow, and the chickens goodbye had been difficult. One final walk through the woods behind the house and across the property had been difficult. Bidding farewell to the few workers that Burt has employed in the last several years had been difficult. Leaving the home that he'd shared with his mom, the last place that holds his memories of her outside of his own head, had been extraordinarily difficult.

The rumbling purr of the transport, however, is soothing and familiar. Kurt had gone out of his way giving this one a facelift—making it smoother, shinier, and detailing the edges with dark, sparkling paint to make the exterior shiny and bright—and he's rather proud of it. He's sure that the people on the Andersons' compound have never seen anything quite like it, and that had been his goal; he is determined to make an impression before he opens his mouth, because god only knows what will happen once he does and words start tumbling out of it.

Despite these fears, he's grateful for his dad's company; grateful that he won't be meeting his new family without the one he already has by his side. 

They don't talk much during the drive, except to call for driver swaps and breaks to eat and do their business. They make good time, and arrive in the area of the compound just past midway, when the evening is swooping in to take the edge off of the afternoon's heat. It's Kurt's favorite time of day, and he breathes a sigh of relief as they make one last stop outside of the compound.

He can already see, in the distance, the tree-sized pillars that make up the spires of the front gates, and his heart slams against the inside of his chest as he takes a moment to brush off and straighten his clothes—he's wearing the outfit that Blaine had sent him as a token months ago, the shirt the color of his eyes and the fitted pants a rich, earthy brown. He'd been surprised this morning when he'd dressed and it had been—significantly tighter than it had been when he'd first tried it on. He feels confident that he looks mature (even though he doesn't quite feel that way).

On a sash tied across his chest he is wearing two pins—an Anderson rose, and the wheel crossed with wires emblem that represents his family.

He fixes his hair for the tenth time in five minutes, and thinks about having a drink of water, but then worries about the need to urinate in the middle of the greeting ceremony.

"Kurt, we don't want to be late," his dad calls.

"Sorry," he says, buckling himself back into his seat. "I wanted to make sure that I looked alright."

They sit still and silent for a moment, staring at the rise of the complex ahead of them, sprawling upward into the side of the mountain for miles and miles. The compound is the size of their entire village four times over, and from it rises dozens of plumes of smoke from dozens of hearths. Kurt can smell all sorts of things—food, horses, wood, exhaust, and pine.

But all of that seems distant and unimportant, because every other smash of his heart against the inside of his chest is _Blaine_. He thinks that he may be sick all over the transport's interior.

"I'm never going to be ready," he says, his voice threadbare. "Let's just—let's go."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Drive faster," he replies. "I need to do this before I lose my nerve."

They don't speak at all after that. 

Kurt keeps clearing his throat and wetting his lips, though there isn't much saliva to be had right now. His mouth feels like it's full of sand, and his tongue like a slab of chalk. He'll never forgive himself if his voice cracks or he tries to speak and nothing comes out.

The massive wooden doors open for them.

It's a short drive up the main road. There is a wide open square in front of the manor house, and before they can wonder where they are supposed to park the transport, a small group of people led by a man with a kind face approaches the vehicle, encouraging them to stop where they are.

Before Kurt can wonder about what comes next their doors are being opened for them, their safety belts undone for them, and there's even a hand to help him step out of the transport.

The immediate view is overwhelming. There are hundreds of people in the street around them, crowded behind neatly arranged fences all along the edges of the square. They are as quiet as a crowd of that size can be, their collective mass buzzing with low chatter.

The man with the kind face says, "Kurt Hummel. Burt Hummel. Welcome! I'm familiar with your father, Kurt, but you and I haven't had the pleasure of meeting. My name is Trent. I'm Blaine's assistant, and I am at your disposal as well, until you find one of your own."

Kurt grips his hand automatically. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you."

Burt shakes Trent's hand in a more relaxed manner. Under normal circumstances, Kurt would be compelled to ask about the meetings Trent and his dad have had without him, but there's a crowd of rather well-dressed people at the other end of the square, just in front of the house, and—

Kurt believes that he has some idea of who the figure up front is, and he begins to shake.

There's a pause, and then Trent says, his voice lowered so that only Kurt and Burt can hear him, "I know how you must feel right now."

"I'm okay," Kurt whispers, which is so very much the opposite of the truth that it is almost funny.

Burt smiles. "Deep breaths, Kurt."

"I don't believe that he would mind me telling you that he is as nervous as you are," Trent says.

Kurt looks Trent in the eye for the first time, and though he seems to have temporarily lost his ability to be perceptive, these words sink in. "I—I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

They begin to walk, Burt on Kurt's right and Trent on his left, only because Trent sets the pace and Kurt's body moves forward as it knows it should. His posture is good, his head held high, and his strides even, though he isn't sure how he manages all of this.

And then he sees Blaine's family and immediate household, flanking and backing him like an old-fashioned choir, his parents just behind him the most noticeable of all. 

Quaking with nerves, Kurt processes details that are easy to grasp first. Blaine is wearing red. His parents are wearing white. There's a yellow rose tucked into the breast pocket of his tunic, which falls to his thighs and is cinched around his waist with black leather. He has hazel eyes, and dark hair. 

And he's staring at Kurt.

Who stares back, lips parted, eyes misting over with tears that he quite literally has no control over or knowledge of, and instead of throwing up as he thought he might, he unconsciously sets his feet to deny the sudden urge to throw himself across the distance between them.

Nothing is processing as he thought it would. He is not reacting as he thought he would. 

And then he thinks, _I'm taller than him_ , and for one split second he understands that if he doesn't do something, he is going to burst into hysterical laughter.

Thankfully, Blaine's father rescues him from a lifetime of humiliation.

"Welcome to the compound, Burt. Kurt," he says, loudly enough for the crowd to hear, and a brief but deafening cheer surges up from behind them. Blaine's father shakes Burt's hand, but not Kurt's, which Kurt had already been told would be the case.

"It's an honor and a pleasure," Burt recites. "We're grateful for the opportunity to combine our houses, and look forward to the joy that our sons' union will bring to us all."

"These thanks are ours as well," Blaine's mother says, stepping forward. 

There are nods and smiles, and they continue speaking until it is Blaine's turn to say something.

And Kurt—

Kurt is still staring at Blaine, and Blaine at Kurt.

He knows the words, but Blaine is supposed to speak first—and that's for the best, because all he wants to say is Blaine's name, over and over again, and that would not do.

He doesn't move or speak or even breathe, waiting for Blaine to begin. 

And then, without warning, Blaine closes the distance between them—Kurt feels his insides try to crawl out of his body, and is so shocked that he almost takes a step back—wraps his arms around Kurt's waist and presses his face into the crook of Kurt's neck—the inch or inch and a half of height that he has on Blaine is enough to make that placement perfect—and hugs him tightly.

No one says a word. This is not part of the ceremony.

Kurt feels the intake of hundreds of breaths behind him, and then noise, and for a moment he panics because he thinks that they're shouting at them, but then he realizes that the crowd is laughing and letting out pleased exclamations.

Without hesitation, Kurt puts his arms around Blaine's shoulders.

Nothing has ever felt so right before.

He still feels as if he's dreaming, though, floating atop the sensation like oil on water. He wishes that they were alone. He wishes that they could forget the ceremony, and the people—

And then Blaine pulls back, stands tall and puts his hands on Kurt's bright red cheeks. There are tears on his face, and Kurt immediately feels his eyes water at the sight. Blaine laughs, and—it's distilled joy, the audible embodiment of longing fulfilled, so honest that it makes Kurt's heart sing.

He is beautiful. He is—the most beautiful man that Kurt has ever seen.

Kurt forgets the words.

Blaine says, loud enough to be heard by all, in a strong, proud, but tear-thick voice, "Welcome home."

Kurt suppresses the noise that rises in his throat. He can't feel anything—his body, his dad beside him, the ground beneath his boots, the air touching his skin. He knows that he must look like an awestruck statue, but it's either that or tears, and he's shed enough of those already.

His voice is much higher than he'd like when he replies, "A home I hope to prove myself worthy of. Thank you, Blaine."

(One of them had to stick to the script.)

The crowd cheers again, and this time the noise bleeds into conversation, as that is apparently the cue for the festivities to begin. All but the house and family members stay behind as Blaine's parents surround them and move to guide them into the house. 

Kurt panics for just a moment; he isn't sure what to do.

"Take Blaine's arm, and walk beside him," Trent whispers. "And relax. You did well."

Kurt reaches for Blaine's elbow, and tucks his fingers into its crook. The sense of relief as he leans against Blaine's side is almost palpable.

Once they pass the threshold—good god, the place is enormous—and the doors close behind them, the chatter between Blaine's parents and his father begins to echo off of the high ceiling. Separation from the crowd outside drowns a good portion of Kurt's anxiety.

They keep sneaking glances of each other out of the corner of their eyes. Now that some of the numbness is fading, he is growing all too aware of his quickening pulse and warm cheeks.

They come to a stop near the bottom of the main staircase, where the entryway breaks off into hallways. They are still being more or less ignored by their elders, for which Kurt is grateful.

Blaine gently takes his hands and faces him. 

Later, he'll take in the beauty of the place, all wood and stone inlay and tapestries, the smell of food wafting from the kitchens and the cool evening air coming in from the open windows—right now, he's lucky if he notices anything outside of the space in between the two of them.

He looks down at their hands and, without allowing himself falter, he laces their fingers together.

Blaine inhales audibly.

Sensation, electric and quivering, thrills through Kurt's body in waves at the touch of their fingers and palms. The intensity of it is unlike anything that he has ever felt before.

He whispers, "Hello."

Blaine laughs, visibly overwhelmed. "Tell me off for not doing that by the book, at least."

 _Oh, thank goodness, he's got a sense of humor_ , Kurt thinks.

"Never," he replies, locking their gazes. "If you hadn't I would have ended up doing the pouncing, and would have wrinkled my lovely outfit."

"Oh. You're—that's one of my tokens." Blaine lets his eyes drift politely over Kurt, just once.

Despite the brevity of the glance, Kurt blushes. "Yes, and I love it. Thank you."

There are a thousand things that he could say, but in this moment Kurt can't think of a single one of them. As if reading his mind, Blaine makes an attempt for them both.

"I—I don't even know where to begin, and confessing that is probably the worst way for me to _attempt_ to begin. Maybe I should just—stop embarrassing myself?" he asks.

His eyes are not only beautiful, but are framed by the lushest lashes that Kurt has ever seen on a man. His eyebrows are the most adorable shape, groomed carefully to the last hair. His curls are rebelling against careful slicks of a pomade that he'd obviously used to try and tame them and, god, the pull of his tunic across the breadth of his shoulders is _mesmerizing_.

Kurt stares, enthralled, ready to forgive him anything. "You aren't embarrassing yourself. I think we just need to—relax. Will we be allowed time together tonight?"

Blaine swallows thickly, and nods. "There will be a dinner to celebrate—yes."

Kurt can't concentrate. Blaine's fingertips are tracing his knuckles, and Blaine's eyes keep drifting to his lips, and he can feel affection rolling off of Blaine in waves as clearly as he can smell the sweet soap that Blaine must have used earlier in the day. 

And it's not just all of that. Standing here with Blaine in this beautiful house, Kurt feels the potential pull of _home_ , which he had not expected to feel so soon. The suddenness of this feeling takes him by surprise, and makes the grounded connection he feels to Blaine all the more vital.

After a lengthy pause, wherein they do nothing but gently play with each other's fingers until the sweat on their palms dries, Trent approaches them.

"I'm to take Kurt and his father to their guest quarters for the afternoon, provide them with lunch and some information while everyone gets comfortable." He laughs. "We're none of us overly fond of these outfits, I think."

"It's cooler on the eastern side of the house, this time of day," Blaine says. Kurt feels a pang of disappointment that they're going to have to separate so soon. "You'll enjoy it." He smiles, lifting his hand to touch one of the dangling laces on Kurt's shirt, where the yellow roses show clearly in the stitching. "And though you look very handsome in this, I'm sure that you brought more comfortable clothing to change into." His eyes raise, and—

He's _flirting_.

Kurt feels a bubble of excitement break in his chest. "I did," he replies, smiling in a way that he hopes lets Blaine know that he knows exactly what Blaine's doing. "I'll see you later tonight?"

"Until then. Enjoy your lunch," he says, lifting Kurt's right hand and kissing his knuckles softly. 

When he abandons their eye contact and lets goes, Kurt stands there with his kissed hand hovering in front of him, his body a mess of shivering and his skin tingling wildly. 

Trent guides Kurt and his dad down a hallway. When they're far enough away from the others to not be heard, Trent says, "Breathe, Kurt."

Kurt inhales. Exhales. Smiles, though it feels like his body is not quite obeying his commands. "I need a comfortable chair and a glass of something cold; please tell me that's possible."

"Of course," Trent says, guiding them into a very lovely sitting room. 

There is a cold lunch set up on the table.

"Oh, yes," Kurt breathes, and collapses into a chair at the table, squeezing his eyes shut.

He intends to serve himself, but when he opens his eyes Trent has already gathered him a plate and a mug of chilled fruit juice. He is so beside himself that he doesn't even hesitate, just wolfs down the food. Only when he's reaching for seconds does he say, "Thank you so much. I could have done that." The food had been delicious, though he couldn't tell you what he'd eaten.

Trent nods, smiling.

Burt looks at Kurt, chewing heartily. "You look like you're gonna pass out."

"You're as sharp here as you were at home," Kurt replies sarcastically.

His dad is beaming. "Give a little. I saw that look on your face."

Trent busies himself around the room, giving them some unexpected privacy.

Kurt gives—he smiles, presses his face into his hands and then folds his arms, letting his chin down to rest on them. "He—he's perfect."

His dad's face twists up. "I'm so damned happy for you. I mean, I know this is kind of jumping the gun, but—it seems to me like this might just work out."

"Okay, okay, I just—I need to just decompress, let's not get too crazy, I just—it's—"

Trent laughs, rejoining them. "I envy David. I would have loved to have witnessed Blaine's identical breakdown."

Kurt reels at the knowledge that right now, somewhere on the other side of the house, Blaine is quite possibly just as excited as he is.

"So," he says, anticipation bubbling in his veins. "What's next?"

"That's my boy," Burt says.

Trent says, "There will be a dinner later tonight—more a household supper, really, where everyone will get a chance to relax and chat. There's little formality there, though I'm sure that Blaine's parents will want a word with you both." He takes a breath. "Tomorrow, you'll have a breakfast date with Blaine, and then we'll assist you with your move to the cabin that you'll be living in. You'll be introduced to the people who will be seeing to your domestic needs. We have a tutor arranged for your benefit, but those lessons won't begin until next week, so you have some time to settle."

Kurt takes this all in, forcing himself to focus. Lunch is sitting heavily in his belly, and the rush of adrenaline from earlier is fading—he's feeling rather sleepy. "And after that?"

"You may pursue whatever activity pleases you, in between your lessons and dates with Blaine."

"These dates—how do we decide—"

"That's up to the two of you," Trent says. "Just know that they will be chaperoned, by either myself or David—another one of Blaine's assistants—or the both of us."

"That I will find very hard to forget," Kurt says, a little dryly.

"Please feel free to wash, change, and nap, if you would like," he says, standing. "Is there anything else? If not, I'll go and make sure that Blaine is still breathing."

Kurt blushes, and can't help the grin that tugs his mouth wide at that. "If he is still breathing—please tell him that we enjoyed our lunch very much."

His dad doesn't force him to converse much once they're alone, obviously sensing how drained he is after all of that, and Kurt is grateful. 

He dozes on his feet through a quick wash with hot water and a soft cloth, shrugs into a comfortable tunic and pants and a pair of socks, and falls asleep on a plush little bed in the next room before he even has time to replay the events of the day in his head.

He doesn't even have the energy to dream.

 

*

 

Blaine arrives at dinner early enough to help the kitchen staff carry in the last of the food platters. 

They can tell that he's been through several draining hours and Martin, the young man who is apprenticed to the head baker, smiles and slips him a cookie with a supportive wink. He just couldn't sit with his parents a moment longer and, unlike Kurt, he hasn't been able to sleep.

Nibbling the cookie seated in his chair at the long table, he breathes out slow and long, and lets the bustle around him soothe his nerves.

Trent finds him here some time later, inhaling the scent of the food laid out on the table. He puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder and sits down beside him.

"Is he—"

"Sleeping like a baby," Trent says. "He and his father both."

Blaine exhales as he had before, slow and careful, measuring the deflation of his chest. He's been trembling since leaving Kurt in the entrance hall, so affected that he doesn't know how to express it. If he allows himself to process everything that he'd felt from the moment that transport had come to a halt in the courtyard, to seeing Kurt's clothing at a distance and knowing that it was him, finally, _him_ , to watching Kurt stride so confidently towards him—

Seeing how beautiful and tall he was, seeing the surprise on his face when their eyes met and it felt as if Blaine would perish if he couldn't press himself into Kurt's arms, couldn't touch his beautiful flushed cheeks and his strong arms.

He's felt longing, lust, and affection before, in all sorts of varieties, both individually and overlapping, but none of that had prepared him for the hunger that seeing Kurt had created in him. He feels as if he has no control over it—it's like a tide, sweeping over him without mercy. 

He feels completely overtaken. 

And he's already in love with it.

When he doesn't say anything more, Trent ventures, "They seemed very pleased. Are you?"

"'Pleased' is a gross underestimation of how I feel right now," he whispers, staring out over the sea of food in front of him. "It's almost more than I can bear."

Trent smiles, scoots closer to his ear, and sounds more like Blaine's best friend than his right hand man when he whispers back, "So if I were to tell you he was literally coming out of his skin with excitement, that his father almost shed tears of joy, that he seemed so struck that he stumbled through lunch with hardly a glance at his plate—you would not care to know?"

"Trent," Blaine rasps, gripping the arms of his chair. "Dinner is hours away. This is like torture."

Trent grins. "Oh, it's soon enough."

"And then after breakfast tomorrow we say goodbye for a _month_. Who came up with this madness, and why did I ever think that it was a good idea to agree to it?" He pauses, and then pins Trent with a shrewd eye. "And what sort of bribe will it take to put you off your duty?"

Trent laughs. "You're welcome to try—I do love a good bribery attempt—but I'll tell you now that it won't work. I am committed to seeing you both through this." He shrugs, smiling. "And besides, I have a new wager with your father."

"You are all against me," Blaine says, groaning.

"It's a hefty wager," Trent explains, patting Blaine's arm. "Have a heart, Blaine. Some of us have to barter and trade our way through life."

Blaine picks a slice of carrot off of the platter in front of him and chews it violently. "Well. Since you are being completely unhelpful, I'm going to change. I have sweat through my clothes."

"Blame Kurt for that, not I."

"I do," Blaine answers, smiling slow and warm. 

_Though not for the reasons I'd prefer_ , he adds silently. Now that he has experienced the physical pull between them, he is not so reluctant to entertain such thoughts about Kurt.

"Self control, my friend," Trent calls, as Blaine strides from the room.

Going through the motions of getting clean, dressed, and styling his hair into something more manageable is soothing. He feels so much more comfortable in his regular day clothes.

But nothing takes the edge off of the ache to see Kurt, to be with him again, to touch him, to feel how real he is. The minutes pass by like hours, and the hours like minutes, and when the time finally arrives he can hardly maintain a sane pace as he escorts his parents into the dining room.

The moment that he sees Kurt—dressed rather fetchingly in a plum-purple knee-length tunic and pale pants with his hair teased high on his head and oh, god, Blaine has never seen a more attractive man in his life—his parents sit him down at the table and then sweep Burt and Kurt into a private conversation as the staff begins to uncover platters and fill empty mugs.

 _Damn_ , he thinks, staring at the little huddle jealously.

The conversation between his parents, Burt, and Kurt lasts for quite a while—and, of course, the meal won't begin until Blaine's parents give the cue, so they have all the time in the world to do as they please and Blaine doesn't even get to benefit from the distraction of delicious food. 

He dares another glance at them as they conclude—his parents exchanging hugs with Kurt and Burt in turn. Kurt looks adorably flushed while he's held by them, but afterward he steels himself against his father's forearm and stands straighter, as if it had been nothing at all.

Blaine aches for him. He is trying so hard.

The table fills with familiar faces. 

Blaine's parents introduce Kurt and his father to each family member as they take their seats at the table, and then to the staff that's lined up off to the side. Once that is done, Burt is invited to sit beside Blaine's parents near the head of the table, and Kurt sits down next to Blaine.

The meal begins with a wave of Blaine's mother's hand, but Blaine hardly notices.

He and Kurt are reaching for each other before they even say hello, their fingers lacing to the last knuckle between their chairs, their arms brushing as they turn to face each other.

Warmth floods Blaine's body in waves as he stares at Kurt's face. His blue-green eyes are almost gray in this light, and his chestnut brown hair styled upward and back along the sides seems flawless to Blaine's eye. 

There is no rule that says they can't speak to each other however they wish at this point, and so when Blaine opens his mouth the words that tumble out of it are in no way impersonal.

"You are stunning," he breathes, clutching Kurt's hand in his. "I do not mean to be superficial—"

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. The feeling is mutual." 

Kurt is as red as a rose from his forehead to his collarbone. 

Blaine can tell how much it takes for him to present himself as an equal—not because he isn't one, but because it's clear that he doesn't see himself as one. He is nervous. He is young. The compound can be intimidating at first, especially when you enter it by way of a formal ceremony. Blaine understands all of this.

And as for nervous—well, they have that in common. Blaine intends to change that if he can, of course, but it's going to be a delicate process. 

He begins tracing Kurt's knuckles with his fingertips, one by one, out of sight of the rest of the table, simply for the pleasure of refreshing the blush that's blossomed over his cheekbones.

"Were they too much?" he asks, nodding in his parents' direction.

"Oh, no, they were fine," Kurt answers. "It's only—back home, I mean, I'm—people always found me odd. I'm not used to this kind of reception."

"I want to know everything about you," Blaine says eagerly. "Everything. The good, the bad, the boring—Kurt, I feel as if you are a story that I have waited to read for the longest time."

Kurt goes still, his eyes sparkling and his pink mouth softening. He looks flattered, and then curious, and then both at once—and for the first time, Blaine catches a glimpse of his relaxation, of his actually seeing Blaine and not just being dazzled by him.

"You have a way with words," Kurt says breathlessly. "I hope that my story entertains you."

Blaine smiles, settling their laced hands on the arm of his chair. "I'm too formal for my own good. I hope you don't find me pretentious."

"It shouldn't be too difficult to break you of it if I do," Kurt answers with a teasing smile. He leans closer as he says this, making their arms brush again.

Blaine's breath catches at his nearness. "I—we should eat, and at least pretend to socialize with the others, shouldn't we?"

"Of course," Kurt answers, looking at the food in front of them. "What are your favorites?"

It is a good way to take their minds off of each other, which is a requirement if they want to get through this dinner. Blaine explains the various dishes—which doesn't take long, as they eat fairly simply here—rotating the trays so that he can serve Kurt a bite of everything. By the end of the meal they've eaten too much and are giggling freely, their chairs nudged seat to seat, their sides touching and their hands never far apart, completely lost in each other.

There's little formality at the table, but there are course changes that seem to reset the volume level in the room. Kurt and Blaine pretend to politely notice and be interested, but by the time dessert is served they are too full—and too distracted by one another—to truly enjoy it. 

When Blaine moves to playfully smear pudding across Kurt's bottom lip, Trent gives him a look and shakes his head. Blaine flushes to the tips of his ears, still staring at Kurt's mouth.

"I wondered how long it would take to begin to test his patience," he says, cleaning his hand with a napkin as Kurt takes a bite of the creamy dessert into his mouth with a spoon instead.

"I was under the impression that you've been doing that all of your life," Kurt replies, the corner of that sweet, wide mouth twitching upward.

Blaine laughs. "He's gotten to you already. Ah, I see how this is going to be."

Kurt raises an eyebrow, wiping his mouth clean. "I still haven't been able to get him to tell me about this wager with your father. I'm intrigued."

"You aren't alone," Blaine answers, sitting back to ease his full belly. "We'll let them enjoy themselves for now." He smiles, and traces the inside of Kurt's wrist with his thumb. "What would you like our second date to be, once we've used up the first at breakfast tomorrow?"

"I think—once I've settled in to the cabin, I'm going to want you to visit me there. I've looked at the map and read your father's notes and there's a walking path, and open fields, and I thought—we could take a meal into the forest?"

"That sounds wonderful," Blaine says, dragging his fingertips gently up and down Kurt's forearm. He can feel the hairs there stand on end atop a field of bumps. He leans his chin against the side of his hand, watching Kurt's flushed face and parted lips. "You must tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable with my—affections. My touch, I mean."

"Of course," Kurt answers, leaning closer. His hair brushes against Blaine's curls, which have been springing free of the pomade that he uses to slick them down all evening, one by one. They both shiver at the contact. "You'll know if I'm uncomfortable, I promise you."

There is a quiet pause. Blaine removes his hand and sits back, more for his sanity than Kurt's, and lets himself just stare at Kurt to his heart's content. Kurt stares back, until it becomes too much, and Blaine has to remind himself to breathe.

"I keep expecting to wake up," Kurt murmurs, his eyes wandering Blaine's form, and then the table, and finally the hall, wide and high around them, full of laughing people. He reaches out, takes Blaine's hand again and clings to it. "I know that we have years before this becomes official, but—I want you to know how happy I am right now. How hopeful. I expected to be comfortable—who wouldn't be, here?—but my expectations have been exceeded already."

"Oh," Blaine sighs, so happy that he could burst. "God, yes—I feel the same."

"It's too soon to feel like this, isn't it?" Kurt asks, looking unsure. "I must seem like such a child to you."

"If feeling this way makes you a child, then we are both children right now," Blaine answers. 

The look on Kurt's face tells him that he has definitely said the right thing.

Just before the table is cleared, Blaine warns Kurt that the evening is about to come to a close.

After bidding Kurt and his father a lengthy goodnight—with Kurt lingering to the last brush of their fingertips and one final, affectionate glance tossed over his shoulder—Blaine's parents flank him all the way through to the other side of the house. Nearer to their rooms, Blaine's mother says his name, and stops them in the middle of the hallway.

"Allow us to gush just a little, son," Blaine's father explains, laughing. 

He draws Blaine into a one-armed hug that his mother completes, and they stand there in a circle together, laughing and smiling, and he feels something unravel inside of his chest.

"He's amazing," Blaine says, as if he can't believe it. "He's _amazing_. He is—and I—I feel as if I could fly off of the roof of the manor and never touch ground again."

After the emotion drains they stand together, each of them with a hand on either of Blaine's arms.

Blaine's father says, "Burt is satisfied, as well as committed to returning for Kurt's seventeenth. Kurt seems as smitten as you are." He smiles, cupping Blaine's face in one hand. "We can't tell you how happy we are to see this begin so well."

"What he means to say is that he wants a grandchild nine months to the day from your wedding night, and don't let him convince you otherwise," Blaine's mother says, playfully rolling her eyes.

His father smirks. "What I _mean_ to say is—congratulations."

Blaine drops a kiss on either of their cheeks. "Thank you."

"Well, then," his mother says, her eyes bright, "I think that you have had more than enough excitement for one day. To bed, young man—while I still wield that power over you."

"Yes, mother," he says, smiling.

 

*

 

Kurt would love to stay up swapping stories with his dad about their experiences at dinner, but he's exhausted, and he has the feeling that his dad is, too.

After encouraging his dad to go to bed, he washes up, changes into a loose tunic, and arranges himself across his own bed—its deliciously soft sheets had already been turned down for him.

His thoughts are a formless whirl of information. His body is buzzing with wild excitement, even under the weight of his weariness.

Just before retiring, he and his dad had finally met David, the second chaperone—quieter than Trent, but just as polite—and he had informed them that he would be sleeping across the hall from them tonight, and would be escorting them to breakfast tomorrow—Burt to dine with Blaine's parents, and Kurt to dine with Blaine—and then on to Kurt's cabin with his belongings and a crew in tow, to assist him with unloading and unpacking everything.

Kurt has so many questions—about his tutoring, about what they will expect of him, about the overseeing that they will want him to do. Blaine's parents are already aware of the fact that he doesn't want to go into mechanics as a career. They have assured him that he won't be asked to do anything that he isn't comfortable doing, and that even if he manages the engineering industry, there are others who will be doing the hands-on work, both in labor and design.

The truth is, he isn't sure exactly what he wants to do. He knows that the luxury of overseeing while having the remainder of his time for pursuits of pleasure is a mighty gift, one that almost no one in their world receives. Having grown up watching his dad work literally every waking moment of his life, he knows how hard it can be. 

He is lucky. He has to be smart, as well, and give these questions the thought that they deserve. 

He is sure that his dad would tell him not to forget to enjoy himself along the way, as well—not to allow every day happiness to pass unnoticed in favor of staring only at the larger picture.

In any case, he won't be able to reach any conclusions tonight; that much he is sure of.

 

*

 

Breakfast the next morning is the first taste of what the following year is going to be like for them. 

Kurt is so unused to the rhythms of a ruling family household that when Trent guides him into the antechamber of a dining room and then disappears into a corner with a plate of food, he isn't quite sure what to do or say. Should he make small talk with Trent? Should he wait for Blaine?

He pours himself a cup of tea and decides to wait. 

His pulse is racing and his stomach sitting tight and high in his belly. The sensation flutters into a frenzy when he hears one of the interior doors open.

Blaine enters, dressed as Kurt is in casual morning clothes, with his hair only partially tamed. When Trent returns Blaine's good morning but doesn't move to join them, Kurt stands. 

He can't wait any longer. 

They reach for each other at the same time, and then he's wrapped up in Blaine's arms, pressing his face into Blaine's shoulder and breathing in the spicy sweet smell of him.

Blaine's fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck. "How did you sleep?"

Kurt can hardly reply; touching Blaine is that much of a relief. He turns his face into the curve of Blaine's neck and replies, "Very well." 

"Hungry?" Blaine asks, his voice unsteady, his fingers clutching Kurt's shoulder blades.

Feeling bold, he smiles playfully, and dares to whisper, "In more ways than one."

Blaine laughs against his temple, warm breath, warm lips. "Breakfast will have to suffice for now."

They separate reluctantly. Kurt notices that Trent has disappeared behind a stack of papers.

"Is this—I just assumed we'd be more closely observed."

"That is about how close they will be, give or take," Blaine says, pouring himself a cup of tea and then topping off Kurt's. "We need space to speak intimately, after all. And, of course, anything that they do hear will be kept in the strictest confidence."

"They are both very kind," Kurt says, scooping cheese and fruit and boiled eggs onto his plate.

"I've known them both my whole life. They're like family." Blaine piles his bread high with butter and jam. 

Kurt stretches a hand across the table to wrap his fingers around the arm that Blaine isn't using to eat. He smiles. "Tell me about this luxurious cabin that I'm about to be swept off to."

Blaine smiles at his touch. "It lies in a beautiful spot. There's a small lake just a short walk to the west. A good, cleared field behind the cabin itself. It gets excellent shade and good morning light. And you may do with it whatever you wish."

"I have to admit," Kurt says, "I'm looking forward to it. This house is beautiful, but also overwhelming. It will be a relief to have a quiet space of my own, at least until I get used to compound life."

Blaine nods, tangling their fingers. "You don't have to like the bustle. You just have to be capable in spite of it. Some days it can be too much, even for me. When the villagers are lined up to the door, each of them with a complaint that I often can't solve without upsetting another—"

"I've heard that you're very good at it. Don't be modest."

"I am," Blaine replies, smiling. "That doesn't mean that I pop up in bed every morning looking forward to the conflict." He motions with a spoon. "I think the cabin and the tutoring will be good for you. But I don't want you to think of it as a prison. You are free to go anywhere on the compound that you like."

"One thing that I keep thinking about is—if I am free to roam, what happens when we run into each other?" 

It's something that has nagged at him since he first learned of the arrangement. The compound is large, but not so large that if he were to go exploring he wouldn't risk crossing their paths.

"I'll smile and wave at you if you will at me," Blaine says, grinning into his mug.

"We can't speak, then."

"We'll be encouraged not to."

"Why?" Kurt asks. "If our bonding is the goal, why such extreme restrictions on communication?"

"The tradition originated as a solution to the problem of arranged marriages failing more often than they succeeded. Couples rushed to sign marriage contracts, only to ask for a separation when they realized that they didn't want to be together. Or the opposite—people deciding against matches that may have worked well, with time and patience. My family wanted to slow the process down. To encourage couples to use a legally set period of time to actually get to know one another, to learn their future roles side by side, to see if they could work together, not just as lovers but in service to the province. Not all contracts have the restrictions that ours do." He drags the pad of his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. "But—there are so many people counting on the success of our union. I think that we're worth the wait. I think that— _you_ are worth the wait."

Kurt's throat closes up at that, and his eyes burn. 

He remembers what his father had said, and he hears what Blaine is saying now—ever since last night, he's felt the weight of new responsibility as well as their instant chemistry quite keenly. He knows that in order for this to last, they need to build it from the ground up, slowly but surely. 

"I agree—and the feeling is mutual, of course," he says, smiling. "I want to do this right. I just—" He laughs under his breath, feeling silly. "I feel like I miss you already."

"I feel the same way," Blaine says."But you'll be so busy, Kurt, and even when you aren't there are so many things to see and do here. Please enjoy yourself."

Even though Kurt is not looking forward to waiting thirty days to see Blaine again, he can't help but see the logic in what Blaine is saying, and he is excited to start his life here. 

When they say goodbye that morning, he is more than ready for his new beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

Burt accompanies Kurt, David, and a small band of enthusiastic staff on the drive to the cabin. 

The gravel is rough on the tires—Kurt thinks about suggesting a finer grade; shredded tires are common on the compound, according to David—but the trip is short, and before long he catches his first glimpse of the place that is going to be his home for the next year.

The cabin is at least half over as large as the one that he'd grown up in, which shouldn't shock him, but as he takes it all in, he can't help but feel guilty.

His dad claps him on the back. "Moving up in the world, huh?"

The structure itself is lovely, made of high quality lumber and blended rock filler, with a good foundation and mathematically flawless angles. 

Together, he and his dad circle the cabin and the field behind it, and meet up again on the front porch as the boys and girls who have come to assist them begin to unload Kurt's things.

"Good sturdy craftsmanship," Burt says, looking up at the cabin.

Kurt nods. "They've kept it up nicely, considering that it hasn't been in use."

His dad follows him inside.

Yet again he's surprised by the size of the place. 

Beyond the porch there's a public room at the front for hosting visitors, a large living area with a hearth, a kitchen, a bathroom, a mud room, a pantry, a small room with scroll nooks and cedar chests for papers, a bedroom with a smaller hearth, a back porch area that leads to the cleared field behind the house, and a garden. The soil-converted garden is blooming with herbs, flowers, and even a few vegetable plants under the shimmering, translucent temperature shield that they use to grow plants year-round and out of season.

"It's beautiful," he says, looking around with wide eyes.

"You look even more pale than usual," Burt observes.

"Seeing this place makes the move feel—so final."

"Just think of all the decorating," Burt says, gesturing around the room. "All that stuff you were always begging me to let you do at home. You can go nuts here."

This is true. The cabin itself is fully furnished but not decorated, and he can't wait to tackle that project. He's already considering a robin's egg blue and an Anderson rose yellow scheme—if he has time to sew up all the proper accent pieces before the month of June is over, that is. 

"Let's get to work unpacking," he says, and he and his dad walk back outside to the trailer.

David makes sure that they're settled before driving off to meet his own trailer down the road. His duties as chaperone extend to being available for Kurt day to day, and so for the next year he will be living in a cabin that's closer to Kurt's own than the manor house.

It takes all day to get the trailer emptied and the basics of Kurt's belongings arranged—his dad had packed more of his things from home than he'd suspected, and he's glad for it, otherwise the cabin would have felt very empty indeed.

There are boxes in the pile that Kurt has never even seen before, and he makes the mistake of opening them without asking his dad about them first. In them he finds things that had belonged to his mother: her papers (including all of the stories that she'd read to him as a child, as well as her personal journals) and fabric samples and baubles and all of her sewing things, some of her jewelry and a good portion of the artifacts that she'd collected and used to decorate their home.

He's crying by the time he finishes sorting through it. His dad finds him hunched over the sink in the kitchen, clutching a blown glass Anderson rose to his chest.

"She would've wanted you to have this stuff," his dad says, putting an arm around him. "I'm sorry if it upset you—I was gonna talk to you about it, but you beat me to the boxes."

"I'm okay. Thank you, Dad," Kurt says. He pauses and then, when the thought refuses to budge, he adds, "Carole and Finn are going to need the room, I'm sure."

There's a beat of silence.

His dad looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "That obvious?"

Kurt sits down at the kitchen table. There's a neatly arranged spray of wildflowers in a vase at its center. He reaches out and touches them. "I like Carole." He knows that his dad can tell he's upset.

"She's not your mother," Burt says, sitting down at the table. "I don't—I don't look at it that way, I just want you to know that. But she is a good person. And she's been making me real happy. She—can't have kids, anymore, not after Finn, so we don't have to worry about that, and once I knew that, I—it was my main reason for holding off as long as I did. My second reason was that I didn't want to upset you, Kurt."

Kurt takes his dad's hand. "I understand. You don't have to justify wanting to be happy, Dad." He sighs. "An empty house would've been terrible for you. I just need to get used to the idea, okay?"

Burt nods. "I can deal with that." He lets the moment pass, sits back and looks around the kitchen. "They kept the tech to a minimum. You've got low amp electricity, some overhead lighting, a little board heating and cooling, the plumbing, the shielding in the garden—if something goes, you shouldn't have a hard time fixing it."

"Saw our symbol on some of it," Kurt says, trying to smile. "You're probably right."

After another pause, Burt asks, "How was breakfast?"

"Delicious," Kurt says, smiling slyly.

"Yeah, I'm sure he was."

"Dad!"

Burt laughs. "Walked right into that one."

Kurt can't help but blush. "It was hard, to say goodbye, but we had a talk about the courtship process and agreed that it's not necessarily a bad thing." He smiles, staring off into space. "I don't think I've ever felt this comfortable with someone who wasn't family. He—he feels like home. Like we belong to each other. Does that make sense?"

"It does. And I'm so happy for you two," Burt says. "Leaving you doesn't seem so bad, now that I know you're settled in this nice place and excited about Blaine."

One of their helpers sticks a head into the kitchen. "Supper's being brought up from the house, if that's alright?"

It most certainly is; Kurt is starving.

They eat cold sandwiches sitting out on the back porch, where they can enjoy the cool evening air. The field is alive with the buzz of insects. After supper, they clean up, and pack the empty boxes into the trailer. 

Just before they leave, Carl, the eldest member of the group, pulls Kurt aside.

"Lotty will come for your laundry and linens." Kurt had noticed that there was no washing or drying machine in the house, so that makes sense. "Kenny works in the kitchens, and until you decide how much cooking you want to do, he'll bring you breakfast and supper, and basic supplies for lunch and in-betweens. He'll take care of the garden, too. Any mechanical issues—well, you probably know that stuff backwards and forwards, and there's a toolkit in the house, but—let me know if you need help. You've got a transport of your own; it's in the garage over there. Was going to throw up a quick stable and leave you a horse, but your dad said you prefer transports."

Kurt has always avoided learning how to ride horses; give him a metal box on wheels any day—transportation that has a mind of its own unsettles him.

"Thank you, Carl," he says, shaking the man's hand. "You've been very helpful today, all of you."

Carl smiles back. "It's a pleasure, trust me. We've been waiting for you for a long time." He pauses, and then asks, "Anything else I can do for you before I go?"

"You wouldn't be able to tell me anything about my tutor, would you?" Kurt asks.

"No, unfortunately," Carl replies. "Other than that she'll be here first thing next week."

When they move back to the transport with the empty trailer attached, Burt puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Why don't we say goodbye here? I'm going to pay my respects to the Andersons and then I'll be on my way."

"In the dark?" Kurt asks, frowning. "I thought we'd have one more night together."

"I'd love to stay another night, but I need to get back," Burt replies. "I've been gone too long as it is. Finn is a capable kid but it's a lot to ask of him, running the whole business by himself."

Kurt's heart knocks in his chest. He knows that it's silly to cling like this, but his dad's departure will make this move officially complete, and all of the sudden Kurt is afraid to be without him.

Burt says to Carl, "Give us a minute?"

"Sure thing."

Kurt and his dad take a walk around the yard, out of sight and earshot of their party.

"If you need me to stay, I'll figure out a way to do it, no matter what," Burt says.

For a moment, Kurt thinks about saying yes. 

He thinks about how his dad has been the one constant in his life, the one thing that has never changed even when everything else was in flux. He thinks about the fighting that they've done in recent years and feels badly about it—but he doesn't want to make saying goodbye into a conversation about that.

"I want you to stay," he says. "But I don't _need_ you to. I want to start my life here."

"Kurt, you're sixteen years old. I know you think that most people your age are already supposed to be settled down, but this isn't farming or machine repair, this is leadership—it's new for you, and it's okay to be scared, to feel unprepared, and if you need me to stay, I will."

Kurt looks over his dad's shoulder at the house. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and thinks. 

What does he really want?

He wants to put out all of his mother's things. He wants to start sewing fabric into throws and curtains and coverings and pillow casings. He wants to have a look at the garden, and make a list of the things that he needs in his kitchen. He wants to give the blankets on his bed a friendly fluff and see if they are as comfortable as they had looked. He's relieved that David is living down the road; reminding himself that he isn't truly alone out here makes a big difference.

"I don't need you to stay, Dad," he says, finally, and begins walking back around to the front yard. "And yes, I am sure. I just needed a minute."

They hold each other for a long while, standing beside the rumbling transports. After today, they won't see each other for a year, and writing each other just won't be the same. They've never been apart for any significant length of time.

"Drive safely," Kurt says, when they finally break apart. "That road is unpredictable in the dark."

"Where would I be without your warnings, huh?" Burt asks, winking at him. Just as the transport begins to pull away he sticks his head out of the window and says, "Hey. I love you, Kurt."

Kurt's eyes water. "I love you, too."

The transports chug down the road, leaving Kurt alone for perhaps the first time in his life.

 

*

 

Being alone with enough space to hold what Kurt is used to defining as a family unit is unnerving. 

He doesn't sleep well the first few nights, and when he finally manages to get used to the new noises and smells and the solitude, the sleep that he does manage is full of strange dreams that he has never had before—of Lima and his father and Blaine and even his mother. 

The daily visits from Kenny are the strangest thing yet—he will never get used to being served so often during the course of the day—and he decides to request weekly grocery deliveries instead so that he can cook for himself. 

He arranges everything that he has unpacked to his satisfaction, and makes a list of the things that he'll need to continue making the cabin homey. 

This only does so much to distract him. He has to admit that he isn't handling the move very well.

He feels a thousand things at once: loneliness, fear, doubt, sadness, and anger, all piled on top of very random bouts of happiness and excitement and longing for Blaine.

At the close of the fourth day, he hears a peculiar noise from the back porch and goes out to investigate with a hunting knife in hand—David had warned him about the local wildlife and, having grown up in denser forest, he is more than prepared for a bear or a wolf or a mountain cat—and finds a scruffy dog rooting through his garbage box.

"Quit it," he says, waving his arms. "Go on, shoo." He walks slowly toward the dog, making noises and encouraging it to back away. The animal is obviously a stray and, judging by the way that its ears perk and its tail begins to wag at the sight of him, a friendly stray at that.

Over the next couple of days the dog continues to show up, typically after meals, and Kurt is lonely enough to stop trying to get it to leave. A table scrap or two later and the dog is putty in his hands, begging for scratches and playtime.

Kurt is not much for canine companionship, for the same reasons that he shies away from tamed horses: they are too reliant on people and require far too much attention. But this dog seems to have a life of its own—it must do something when it isn't begging for food at Kurt's door—and Kurt is all too happy to have its company, especially at night.

By Sunday he's having whole one-sided conversations with the dog, and decides that he should stop calling the dog "it" and begin accepting their unlikely friendship.

"I suppose I should name you," he says, curled up in a chair on the back porch with the small dog in his lap. The dog's thick, curly fur is cleaner since Kurt had managed to trick it into a bath earlier on in the day—he simply can't stand muddy paws or stinky muzzles or matted fur. "I'm sure you already have one. But I don't speak dog, so..." The dog stares up at him quizzically. "How about Sampson? That's a good, strong name, and then I can call you Sam. I've always found 'Sam' to be rather quaint." The dog's head tilts the opposite way. "Well. You're no help. But your tail is wagging, so I'm going to take that as a yes. Sam it is."

Sam barks, and Kurt smiles.

 

*

 

The morning that Kurt's tutor is set to arrive, he paces in anticipation of her arrival.

It's only when he hears her hitching her horse's reigns to the post outside that Kurt realizes he doesn't even know her name. He's going to offend her before they even begin. 

_Wonderful._

He brushes his hands over his clothing and hair nervously. He'd picked a bright blue tunic today, with layered silk darts along the arms, and a simple pair of yellow, cotton pants. He feels enlivened by the colors, though they are perhaps a bit too Spring-like for June—but he hadn't had time to sew a Summer wardrobe before the move, and so here he is.

She knocks on his door and he counts to three before answering.

"Mr. Hummel, good morning," she says briskly, thrusting out a hand, which unbalances the stack of papers and the few scrolls that she has in her arms. He rushes to shake her hand before relieving her of her burdens. She's taller than him, with long dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. "Call me Lucy," she says, sighing in relief when her arms are free.

Grateful to have been rescued from his ignorance, he ushers her inside and replies, "Good morning. And please, call me Kurt. Can I get you a drink? Milk, water, juice? They won't allow me beer or wine, I'm afraid."

She laughs politely. "Kurt, then. It's my pleasure. Water would be lovely."

Once they're seated in the living room, he says, "There is a papers room, through there—it isn't really set up to be a school room, but if you'd like I could work on converting it for future lessons."

"We can do this on horseback, if you wish," she says, grinning. "I just like to be comfortable."

"The couch it is, then," he declares, and is relieved when she seems to get the joke.

"You won't hear me complain about that," she says, as they settle. "So. A little bit about me, then, just to bring you up to speed. My family have been the record keepers and the political advisers to the Andersons since they settled this place After the War. That role tends to go all over the place—we have fingers in education, trade negotiation, paper preservation, research, and many other industries. My job as your tutor is to give you an understanding of the history of the Anderson family and what they do for the province, and also to provide you with a continuation of the general education that you were receiving in your village. What you'll need to know as co-leader are things like customs, laws, treaties—and all of the associated social graces that they require." She smiles at the look on his face. "Don't panic just yet. You'll learn most of that on the job. What I will be giving you now are the bullet points, so that you have some idea of what you're getting yourself into. Think of it as a work training program."

He exhales all at once, his head spinning in circles. "My reading, writing, and mathematical skills are all up to speed for my age. But the rest of it..." He shakes his head. He can't help but worry, despite what she says.

"It will be many years before you're expected to make decisions on your own," she says. "Have no fear." She smiles. "It's taken Blaine his whole life to become a master of the art, and he was born into it—and took to it naturally, as well." She twists her pen. "What I'd like for us to accomplish today is to bring you up to date on local customs and politics so that you aren't confused by the things that you may see and hear when you start visiting the village. Let's start with a quick overview of the Anderson family's migration and settlement, and then we'll talk about the other provinces and what the Andersons trade with them."

Overwhelmed, Kurt takes a deep breath and a long swallow of water, and accepts an inch-high stack of papers and a pen from her hand.

 

*

 

There are nights when Kurt is relieved that spirits are off limits to him in the cabin—lessons that had sounded like an interesting use of his time when he'd first heard about them turn out to be a dense crash course in province history and trade law that leaves his head stuffed and throbbing.

He'd known already, of course, that their province's hallmark industry is machines and technology—new, old, older, and oldest, blends of hundreds of years of different levels of advancement all mashed together because their related historical record had effectively been destroyed at the end of the War. They have fireplaces alongside bio-mechanicals, simple plumbing and gas heating alongside advanced medical instruments, homes of stone and wood and plaster filled with artifacts that are centuries more complicated than the walls that surround them. 

Sorting out what is what, and how they can fix it and reclaim it and use it, is the Andersons' family legacy, and they have built an entire province from the ground up by exporting that technology in return for the import of raw materials, livestock, and food.

What makes Westerville special is that it has also attempted to establish local production of goods and services that it would normally need to obtain from other provinces, in order to diminish its dependence on imports. They call these "micro-industries". They don't have the resources that they would need to end their reliance on imports altogether, but with the use of re-purposed technology they have managed to grow enough food, raise enough livestock, and gather and process enough raw materials to run the compound, at least, so that everything they trade for can be funneled directly to the villages. The output of these micro-industries has vastly improved in recent years, though this information has been kept quiet because they don't want to risk making the other provinces feel that their trade contracts are in any danger.

Overseeing these micro-industries is mainly Blaine's responsibility—the heads of each division of labor report to him, and all related concerns below that level of management are also his to address on a daily basis. In time, Kurt's job will be to choose which industries he feels most comfortable with and knowledgeable of, and take them from Blaine to oversee himself. 

It's a daunting notion. Kurt finds himself mentally exhausted those first few weeks.

In his spare time he eats sparingly, explores the forest around his cabin, plays with Sam, and visits David every now and then. David is woefully unwilling to gossip, and won't tell him a thing about how Blaine has been since they last saw each other, much to his chagrin.

His letters to his dad are longer than he expected they would be—a lot of what he's learning he has been asked to not commit to paper, so he can only be vague about it, but he has a lot to share otherwise, mostly personal things.

Still, even as busy as he is, it is lonely in the cabin. 

When he visits the village he wears a cloak and hood, light enough for comfort but concealing enough to allow him anonymous passage through the streets. The shop owners seem to like him well enough. He also makes sure that he always has something in his pockets for the children who do recognize him.

Putting himself out there by shaking hands, memorizing names, having conversations, giving custom to shops, and amusing the village children seems to begin the development of his reputation; both Lucy and David and the girl who comes for his laundry and the boy who brings his groceries and hauls away his trash suddenly all have a comment to make about how well he's getting on, and how kindly everyone has been speaking of him.

Encouraged, he increases the frequency of his trips into the village, and sometimes even goes without a hood—it's a pleasant distraction, even on the busiest and hottest of market days.

The village center is his favorite—it rides a downward slope toward the front gates of the compound, and is made up of curved stone-paved streets and neatly laid out wooden structures, all shellacked with the anti-fire glaze that Kurt's dad had invented when Kurt was a child. He remembers his dad experimenting for years before getting it to work—mixing, melting, boiling, solidifying, and trying to light things on fire, until one day the object had staunchly resisted, and they'd had a special dinner in the village that night to celebrate the success. He remembers his mother being so proud, and everyone plying his dad with beer.

He learns the ins and outs of the market days, and manages to time his visits so that he can get his hands on the best of what he's always looking for—food, drink, bolts of fabric, sheets of music, metal and tools for his tinkering, and decorations for his cabin. 

David tells him that he will be measured for a wardrobe soon enough, but that if he wants to design a few pieces in the meantime, he's welcome to. He begins collecting fabric, buttons, clasps, and lace. It's too late for a full Summer wardrobe, so he also selects some heavier material as well as a roll or two of fur, thinking ahead to the colder months. 

He knows that he won't have complete control over what he wears when he is working, but he's determined to maintain an individual style no matter what.

Outside of lessons and village trips, he fills his spare time with maintaining his transport and garden, experimenting with cooking (he invents a grain pudding made with spices, milk, and sugar that is almost too good), going for long walks with Sam nipping at his heels, and doing the assignments that Lucy sets him.

Blaine had been right; he is far too busy to simply sit around and pine.

Of course, he thinks of Blaine. Thinking of Blaine is like the press of a hand against his chest just above where his heart lies—it feels as if there is a bruise there that is constantly being refreshed. 

Blaine is what's missing from this otherwise blessed existence, in which Kurt has both a purpose and time to pursue his own interests, in which people seem to like him without needing him to change, in which things are arranged so that he has every chance to succeed, in which a bustling town life that doesn't feel oppressive and history-laden is just a short transport ride away.

He imagines all sorts of things—Blaine in the cabin with him, sharing his meals and his evenings and his bed. Leisurely hours of privacy, time to talk and time to explore one another. Blaine's laugh. Blaine's smile. Blaine's curls. His excitable nature and his courtesy and the way he moves.

And before Kurt even realizes it, their next date is just around the corner.

 

*

 

A few days before his date with Blaine, Lucy comes bearing supper instead of papers, and they eat on the back porch with Sam stealing scraps from their fingers. It's a pleasure for Kurt, who appreciates his lessons but has been dying for a chat with someone he feels he's grown close to.

She's laughing, picking apart an orange, the setting sun behind her turning her hair into a halo.

"It sounds funny now, but it wasn't when the entire stove was engulfed in flames," Kurt says.

"Have you ever even made dough?" she asks.

"Once or twice when I was little," he replies. "After my mother passed, I tried to re-teach myself, but my dad needed me in the sheds more than he needed me in the kitchen, so we just patronized the village baker after that."

"I'm disappointed. I can never expect fresh bread at your house now."

He laughs. "I spent the entire day cleaning char and clearing smoke. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even call David or let Kenny into the house when he came with supper."

"You'll need to learn to cope with being observed sooner or later," she says, chewing her fruit. "In the manor, people will be jumping at those kinds of chores, especially for you."

He fishes through the bowl of fruit salad between them and comes up with a slice of melon. "I know. I'm usually not that useless in the kitchen." He pauses, and then says, "The closer I get to seeing Blaine again, I just get more and more stupid."

She smiles. "You two really hit it off, didn't you?"

"I'm sure even the City Traders have figured that out by now."

She shrugs. "Honestly? When you first arrived, people were talking about it being a set up—that you'd already known each other, and that the meeting in the square was just a formality."

"No," Kurt breathes. "Oh, no, I don't want anyone to think—"

"Relax," she replies. "It didn't take long for them to separate rumor from reality. And it's understandable that there was some doubt. People here are eager to make good alliances, but they need to be convinced of your worth first." She wipes her hands on a napkin. "Your sojourns into the village have helped immensely. I don't think you realize just how much people appreciate seeing you, and knowing that you're thoughtful and generous and kind, as well as good looking. You've definitely won them over."

"You are going to be terrible for my ego, you know that?" he asks, smiling. "But I appreciate being filled in, I really do. Compound politics sometimes elude me."

"I'm here to teach you, silly. That means keeping you appraised of public opinion."

When they run out of things to say, he is tempted to ask her about Blaine.

Kurt has already requested custom meals from the house for their date—he doesn't know if he'll have the presence of mind to cook that day, and he would rather have food on hand that Blaine is familiar with. Other than that he has no real plans, and no overwhelming preference for what they do to pass the time, as long as they can be together.

"How—how has Blaine been?" he asks, finally, taking the chance.

"Distracted, but in a good way. Each season brings unique challenges, so he's never without work to keep him busy, but—it's clear that there's somewhere else he'd rather be."

Kurt can feel his cheeks go hot. He still can't quite wrap his mind around how much Blaine seems to like him. He presses his cheek to the cool ceramic of his mug and sighs. "I miss him, too."

When the garbage is stowed and Sam is sent off with half of a sandwich, they go back inside and Lucy gathers her things. At the door, she hugs him goodbye.

"Enjoy your date," she says, smiling at him crookedly. "You deserve it. You both do."

"I will," he says, feeling grateful for her presence in his new life. "Thanks, Luce."

 

*

 

The morning of their date, Kurt stands with his back against his front door, his arms wrapped around himself, laughing silently—shoulders shaking, tears welling in his eyes, tension bleeding out of him with every muffled giggle. He'd heard Blaine and Trent's horses coming up the path. He'd stopped pacing so that he would be ready to open the door at the first knock. The moment had been building spectacularly, and then...

"For god's sake, I know how to tether a horse!"

"Yes, but you're usually not shaking like a leaf when you do it, Blaine," Trent points out. "And stop fixing your hair. It's useless."

At that Kurt had simply lost it. 

When he manages to get himself under control he feels leagues better—perhaps a little hysteria is exactly what he'd needed to shunt his nervousness aside. 

Now all he feels is an anticipation that's almost like hunger.

_Blaine. Finally._

"I'll take my breakfast out here, if that's alright. Leave the curtains open. I'll be watching."

Kurt waits for the knock. He still jumps when he hears it, then takes a breath and opens the door.

Blaine looks absolutely gorgeous—he's wearing a yellow tunic, dark brown pants, supple riding boots and a decorative scarf around his neck, his hair smoothed down and his eyes fever-bright. There are two curls springing free from his coif already, on the right side near his temple. Before Kurt can consider a proper greeting, he's reaching out to take those escaping locks between his fingers. Blaine groans in response, grabs Kurt around the waist and hauls him close, buries his face in the curve of Kurt's throat and lets out a soft noise that vibrates along his skin.

"Kurt," Blaine breathes. 

"Don't let go," Kurt replies, a barely-there whisper, holding onto Blaine as if his life depends on it.

"Oh, god, you feel so—" Blaine doesn't even finish the sentence. He backs them into the cabin, closes the door with his boot and tightens their embrace. 

Kurt feels as if he could vibrate out of his own flesh. He cards his fingers through Blaine's hair again and again, ruining the styling entirely, while nuzzling his cheek and temple and jaw into Blaine's, just breathing and feeling and smelling and letting their bodies settle. 

Eventually, he feels he should say something.

"Are—are you h-hungry, breakfast should be here any—"

Blaine drags his palms up and down Kurt's spine. "I want to hold you all day."

Kurt laughs, overwhelmed. "Are you sure? I ordered those little egg tarts that you like."

A pause, and then Blaine hums, "Hmm."

Kurt grins. "Ah! I see I have you there."

They pry themselves apart, but only far enough for Blaine's hands to settle on his hips, and for his to settle on Blaine's arms. They stare at each other.

Blaine cups his face, thumbs over his jaw and sighs happily. "You look different."

"You look tired," Kurt replies.

"I've been pining," Blaine admits, smiling back sheepishly.

"I've been busy." Kurt slides his right hand into Blaine's left and tangles their fingers. "Let me show you around?"

"Please."

The trembling remains, but Kurt's heartbeat slows. 

He shows Blaine the changes that he's made—the decorations, the artifacts, the curtains, the accent painting, and the new furniture on the back porch—and then he tells Blaine about Sam. 

"Of course, now that I want to show him off, he's not here," he says.

"I'm glad that he found you," Blaine replies. "It's dangerous for a stray this close to the forest."

"I don't know," Kurt says. "He seemed to be doing just fine on his own."

After the tour, they make their way back into the living room.

"Would you like to eat in here, or in the kitchen?" he asks.

"If we choose the kitchen, Trent will have to join us. In here he can just look in through the window every now and then."

"Ah, I see."

There's no question which arrangement Kurt prefers, so when breakfast arrives they help set it up on the sidebar in the living room. Danny brings food out to Trent, and then makes a second trip when Kurt tells him to take something for himself and stay a while outside if he likes.

Finally, Kurt and Blaine sit on the couch with their plates balanced on their laps. Kurt's eyes burn from his attempts to blink less in order to stare more. Blaine is just so stunning—he wants to recall every detail of this day, and use them to carry him through the next month of waiting.

He smiles, licks egg yolk from his lip and tangles their free hands on the back of the couch.

"Tell me about your lessons," Blaine prompts. "I know Lucy, of course, but I never had the pleasure of her in that capacity. Her father was my tutor. He retired only recently."

"She's exacting," he says. "I'm dashing through the basics."

Blaine eats quietly for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Now that you've seen what you're going to be doing as co-leader—does it interest you? Can you imagine yourself happy doing it?"

That gives him pause. It's a direct question, and a good one.

"If I hadn't been raised knowing that it would eventually be my life?" he asks. "Maybe not. The responsibility, the civic duty, the burden of knowing how things work and being a necessary part of what _makes_ them work—it's—a lot." He smiles. "But the one thing that I've always been passionate about is creating things—music, clothes, toys, transports—and making sure that they work. Being a co-leader is like that, only on a much grander scale. I think that I will be happy doing it, once I gain some confidence. Does that make sense?"

Blaine brings Kurt's fingers to his lips with a sigh. He kisses them, and then says, "You burn so brightly. I—I am the luckiest man in the world."

What can Kurt even say in response to that?

Over Blaine's shoulder, Kurt can see Trent in clear sight of them through the window. He patiently sets their empty breakfast trays aside and scoots closer to Blaine.

"Can we—can we just...?"

"Of course," Blaine breathes, holding out his arms. Kurt slides into them, sitting sideways against his chest, tucking his head beneath Blaine's chin. Blaine's arms tighten around him.

"Is there anything that you wanted to do?" Kurt asks. "I thought we might take a walk, but—I like this more, to be honest."

"I'm happy right here," Blaine says. "If you feel up to it, though, I'd love to hear more about you. The details that I've been given over the years have never amounted to much."

"I'd love to," Kurt says, "but for that I'll need a few things."

Blaine grins, looking curious. "Very well."

Kurt goes to fetch some of his mom's things. He's feeling a little shaky; he wants to share his story with Blaine, but talking about his mom is difficult for him.

He begins lightly, describing his early childhood. How perfectly his parents had divided the household labors. How he'd learned so many things, and had time to explore the forest and grow to understand it. How loved he had been, even when it was hard, and especially after they lost his mom.

He describes tea parties and cooking lessons and transports coming apart and being put back together under his hands. He describes flowers and the smell of grease and the first time that he'd sewn something he could actually wear. He describes putting on musicals for an audience of one, and feeling like the luckiest little boy in the world.

He opens a stack of papers and shows Blaine images of princes and heroes and monsters—all inspired by the horrors of the War, though he hadn't known that at the time—from the stories that his mom had read to him.

Blaine traces the pages, many of which contain dark-haired boys who seem to be the central character of each story. "They tried to make you ready, didn't they?"

"My mom did," Kurt replies, turning the pages. "I'm not sure if she knew what the outcome would be, but she knew that I loved these stories."

Blaine tips their heads together. "Your dad must have struggled without her."

Kurt nods. "He did. They were such a unit."

"Your father is a remarkable man," Blaine says.

"He is, thank you." Kurt smiles. He lifts an embroidery circle in his right hand—it's an Anderson rose, three quarters of the way finished. His mother had sewed them with him all the time, but this was one of the last, one that she hadn't finished. "As early as I can remember, this shape was everywhere. We drew them, painted them, sketched them, sewed them—I even had a stuffed toy shaped like one that I'd slept with from birth." He chuckles. "We tried to grow them, but even with the temperature shields and soil converters, they just wouldn't grow in our garden. So we made them in every other way that we could."

"You were eight when she...?"

"Mmhm. From the moment she conceived, there was a tension in the house that I'd never felt before. I could tell that they were both trying so hard to—to make it a happy event, but it's difficult to be celebratory when the risk is so great. When the time came, a doctor from the compound came to see to her. But she—the birth made such a mess of her, and the baby was stillborn. I think she knew. I think—they both knew. And then there was an infection, one that the doctor hadn't seen before." Kurt shudders and puts all of his focus on not crying. "She went peacefully not a day later. They gave her something that took the pain away, but left her lucid so that she could talk to us. I was alone with her for an hour or so that day. We just—carried on as we always did. She read me stories. We drank tea. She quizzed me on my lessons. She told me some things about the running of the house—reminded me of tasks that she handled that she didn't think Dad would even know needed doing. She held me." His throat closes and his eyes sting. "S-she told me she loved me, over and over again. She told me to look after my dad, and make him accept help—from me, from the village. I wasn't there when she passed. Dad was. I was—okay, with that. I wanted to remember her alive. I guess he wanted that for me, too." Tears slide down his cheeks. "I never really saw him grieve, for her or the baby. He was determined that life go on as normally as possible for me. But we were never the same without her. After that, everything changed. Dad accepted the pre-contract and told me that I was a carrier. My life gained a new focus."

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine whispers, drawing Kurt's head down to rest on his shoulder. His hands stroke up and down Kurt's arms. Kurt breathes easier at the touch, and feels the throat-tightening urge to continue crying recede. 

There's something wonderfully cathartic about sharing this with Blaine, and the realization that doing so had come easily, that he hadn't felt awkward opening up to Blaine, makes his belly squirm in the best possible way.

"I don't tell this story often," he admits. Blaine's fingers card through the hair at the back of his head, firmly and soothingly.

"Thank you for sharing her with me," Blaine says, his voice thick with emotion. "May I?" 

Kurt nods, and Blaine begins paging through the journal. 

He seems fascinated by the drawings, of which there are many—of herbs, plants, animals, and artifacts, and in between those, sketch after sketch of Kurt at every age, in every conceivable state—happy, sad, neutral, dressed, naked, dirty, clean, asleep, distracted, and focused.

"She used to say that happiness isn't the only emotion worth remembering," Kurt says.

"I wish I could have known her," Blaine says, dragging a fingertip along the page.

"She always worried that she didn't do enough," Kurt says. "Her and my dad—it wasn't arranged, they were just—they loved each other. I always thought it was so old-fashioned of them, so romantic. She wasn't interested in engineering and he wasn't interested in domestics, but they worked well together. They brought our family and village through so many terrible winters."

They go through the journal together, fingers brushing, mostly in silence.

"You said that after she passed, your father told you about the contract, and that you were a carrier. What was it like, how did you feel, after you knew?" Blaine asks.

Kurt is grateful for the opportunity to shift topics.

"The first few years it just felt like I'd been told a story—something to wonder and dream about. I was too young to understand. When I was a little older, I became rather sarcastic about it, especially when I realized that they weren't going to tell me everything about you, much less allow me to see you. A year or two after that, I grew very interested in what—" He laughs, and blushes. "What you looked like."

Blaine grins. He traces a fingertip down Kurt's cheek. "Oh, did you?"

The touch makes Kurt bite his lip. "You never felt the same curiosity about me?"

Blaine's eyes drift over his face. "Every day. They described you, but...saying that you had brown hair and blue-green eyes is like saying that a sunrise is yellow. It doesn't even begin to do it justice." His warm hazel eyes shine, and Kurt is held as captive by them as by Blaine's fingertips against his cheek, rough from riding. He can't even draw a decent breath. "And after that?"

"A-and after...?"

"How did you feel, after you began wondering what I looked like?" Blaine asks, smiling playfully. He knows how distracting he's being. His fingertips slide down Kurt's jaw.

"Restless," Kurt replies, tilting his face into Blaine's touch. His heart is beating so fast. "I was eager to come here, excited by the prospect of something new. I began to understand what being co-leader meant, and—what it might be like, to be a h-husband—" 

Their eyes meet, and Kurt's skin aches for more than just Blaine's fingertips. Blaine's chest rises and falls faster. Kurt can feel the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense up, and knows that he wants to get closer, to touch—but they can't. He breathes out shakily, closing his eyes when Blaine's fingers coast along his neck, his Adam's apple, and find the hammering of his pulse above his collarbone. 

" _Blaine_ —"

At that, Blaine's fingers curl back into his palm. He clears his throat and pulls away, and Kurt stares at the pass of his tongue over his bottom lip, enthralled.

"And now, you're here and—is this—are you still sure? After a month, after—getting a taste of this life, are you sure?" Blaine asks roughly, desperation written across his features.

Kurt answers, his voice just as wrecked as Blaine's, "Yes. I'm sure."

Shaking, Blaine draws him close by the back of his neck. "Then I am yours, Kurt Hummel."

It's all Kurt can do to continue breathing, to hold on to Blaine as Blaine holds on to him.

They pass the rest of the day speaking of lighter topics, eating as they please and never straying far enough from one another to break physical contact. They go outside to watch the sun set, sipping cool juice from flasks as they walk circles around the backyard.

Sam finally decides to join them, and Kurt has the pleasure of watching Blaine and the dog roll around in the grass like children. Blaine declares Sam a lovely animal, and Sam seems rather flattered by his attentions, following him around until they head back inside as the sky darkens.

Trent has maintained a respectable distance from them all day without allowing them out of his sight—Kurt has yet to feel watched, which is a relief. When he'd first learned what the word "chaperone" meant, he had imagined the people assigned to the task glaring at them and breathing down the back of their necks every moment that they were together.

"What will he do when he needs to empty his bladder?" he asks, only half-joking.

Blaine laughs. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see. He takes his duty very seriously."

He knows that their date is drawing to a close. He already feels desperately lonely, and they haven't even said goodbye.

"I don't want you to go," he says, into the silence.

Blaine tilts his head against the back of the couch. "And I don't want to leave you." He closes his eyes. "Sometimes I get through a difficult day by imagining what it might be like to just—disappear from the manor and live with you here, pretend that this cabin is our family home. Cook and hunt and ride and sew and watch you fix things." He smiles crookedly. "Kiss you good morning and good night and—" His cheeks grow red. His fingertips trace slow circles at the center of Kurt's palm. "Spend every moment just learning you, and letting you learn me."

"I don't know about that," Kurt says, even as his heart and body respond eagerly to the idea of such domestic bliss. Blaine looks surprised, so he adds, "I think that you love your people too much to leave them. I think that taking care of the province means a lot to you."

"Oh, you're not wrong," Blaine admits. "I would call that thought a fantasy, instead of a desire."

Kurt hears Trent moving around on the porch, and then the stomp of hooves and the jangle-creak of horse tack when he begins readying the beasts for his and Blaine's departure.

"I suppose that's your cue," Kurt says, sighing. "Do I get a hint about next time?" he asks, as they walk outside, arm-in-arm.

"Hear me out before you get angry," Blaine says, smiling impishly at him. "But I want to introduce you to our horse master, and give you your first riding lesson. There are so many beautiful spots in the forest that you can't reach by transport."

Kurt makes a face, and then laughs at himself. "They'll smell my disdain a mile away."

Blaine squeezes his arm. "You won't come to harm, I promise. I just—want to show you something new. And maybe change your mind, if I can."

Kurt doesn't care for horses, but he does want to understand the things that Blaine is passionate about. "I look forward to being taught," he says, allowing their eyes to meet.

"I look forward to teaching you," Blaine replies, his voice rough and low.

Kurt isn't quite sure if they're still talking about horses.

Blaine takes his hands and kisses them, one after the other. "Thank you for indulging me today. I feel as if I know you so much better than I did before."

"You can thank me by returning the favor next time; I would like to hear your story," Kurt replies. 

On a whim, he lifts Blaine's hands to his lips and mimics the gesture. Blaine gasps in surprise, his eyes glued to the sight of Kurt's mouth against his skin. Kurt savors his reaction with a slow, teasing smile.

Trent is holding their horses' reins, watching them with fond exasperation. "We should be off, Blaine."

"Until next time," Blaine says, his cheeks still flushed.

"Until next time," Kurt replies, letting him go reluctantly.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you know about horses?" Kurt asks.

"Oh, god, he's already introducing you to his horses? It must be love!" Lucy says, laughing.

"I have no idea if I'll enjoy it, but I do want to learn the basics. It's important to him."

"I have an introductory paper on the topic somewhere in here," she says, ruffling through her bag.

He reads the paper front to back several times, trying to commit its advice to memory, but he isn't sure how much good it's going to do him. He has a feeling that his problem with horses is more instinctual than educational. Still, he feels better having tried to prepare himself.

The only other event of note that occurs between their first and second date is a visit from the tailor, a short, round man named Ben who is more excited about fashion than anyone he has ever met before. 

It's wildly enjoyable; after Ben tells him what they have to work with and how long they have to do it, they lose hours planning—how many outfits to make for Summer, when they are already well into the season, and how many to make for Winter, which is still so far away?

"You are an absolute joy to work with," Ben says, when they have everything sketched and all of his measurements taken.

Kurt is thrilled with his enthusiasm, and ends up asking him to stay for supper. They stay up well into the night scribbling further designs and arguing about fashion trends. It's heaven for Kurt, who has never met another person who was quite so excited about the industry before.

By the time that Ben leaves they have already made plans to see each other again, and Kurt makes sure to add a paragraph about Ben to the letter that he's writing to his dad.

The letters that they have been exchanging as of late have been affectionate but brief—they are both extraordinarily busy people. Despite that, his dad always manages to make him feel missed and loved, and keeps him up to date on both family and village news. He writes often of the business (thriving), Finn's apprenticeship (plodding along), and his engagement (official) to Carole, as well as the hiring on of two more helpers, a pair of sisters who possess a keen eye for metalwork.

It's so late by the time that Kurt finishes writing about Ben that he decides he might as well finish the letter off so that it can go out with the morning post. By sunrise the letter is sealed and, as he has no plans or appointments today, he crawls into bed to contentedly sleep the morning away.

 

*

 

The only thing that Kurt fusses over the morning of their second date is his clothes.

With horse riding in mind, he chooses a thin, sleeveless cotton shirt (bone white) that he's willing to lose to potential staining, and a pair of buckskin pants (natural). He combines that with a pair of knee-high riding boots, shined to perfection, and a dark brown belt that's decorated with rawhide tethers tipped with glossy metal beads that hang down either side of his hips.

As he stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom he realizes that he has grown a lot in the last year. The shirt and pants, which used to be loose, are now rather fitted.

He looks older and stronger, dressed in clothes that hug his frame. His shoulders are wider than he can ever remember them being, and his body is longer and leaner. His thighs are thickening with muscle, and his buttocks are round and tight and high. His face has shed a good percentage of its baby fat, leaving him with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and noticeable dimples.

He briefly considers putting on a vest or a jacket over the shirt, worried that he looks a little too provocative, but the weather is warm, and he doesn't have anything that would go with the color of natural buckskin, and—

Never mind all that. He likes the way he looks. He likes the way he feels.

He does a turn. And another. And another. 

He wonders if Blaine will like what he sees, too—and flushes so hot that he has to sit down and have a cold drink to chase the thought away.

The drive down to the stables takes longer than he'd thought it would—David explains that they are situated a ways beyond the manor. 

They have many horses, which Kurt learns as much from David telling him as from the smell that assaults his nostrils the that moment they're in range of the stables. Living in a rural village and having grown up with a milk cow and, occasionally, goats and chickens, Kurt isn't entirely unused to the smell of farm animals, but dozens of horses in one place is something else. He tries not to react visibly as they park and exit the transport.

Being nervous about interacting with the horses has distracted him from his eagerness to see Blaine. At least, that is, until he sees Blaine talking with a group of people in the middle of one of the paddocks, wearing riding leathers and no pomade in his hair, completely in his element.

He flushes hot and his face turns red so fast that it's almost embarrassing. His lips part and his pupils widen and he just sort of stares, until Blaine notices them and turns the full force of that carefree charm in his direction. He fidgets, left foot to right foot to left foot again. Blaine jogs over, throws his arms around Kurt's waist, and picks him up and spins him in a circle before setting him down.

Kurt, unprepared for this, squeaks, "Blaine!", and finds himself unable to stop the laughter that rises in his throat.

"God, you look—" Blaine begins, putting him at arm's length. "A-amazing, oh. Hello."

Blaine's leathers are so dark that they're almost black. He's wearing a sleeveless shirt under a sturdy looking vest, and his boots show signs of practical wear. His puffy curls are flying free and his eyes are bright and he's wearing a hunting belt with several knives tucked into it, and—good god, he looks incredible. Rugged and so much older and so much more—woodsy than Kurt has ever seen him. He even smells like the outdoors, earth and pine and horses, and Kurt has to clamp down on the urge to see if he tastes as good as he smells.

"You too, um, that's—that's—I love this look," he replies, hands moving, throat bobbing.

Behind Blaine, Trent stifles a smile against the side of his hand, and excuses himself from the people who he had been talking to. He walks over and waves at Kurt.

"Kurt," he chirps, claiming a hug. "You look—healthy." Blaine gently elbows him, and he winks at Kurt. "Settled in very nicely from what I hear, as well."

David smiles. "He's become a regular village professional. The kids love him, and even Mr. Corcron down at the textile shop is putting things aside for him."

"I'm still trying to win that man over," Blaine admits. "Well done." Kurt can feel every pass of Blaine's appreciative gaze, and with each new application his blush grows darker. "Let me introduce you to some people?"

Kurt meets the horse master, Kelly, his two apprentices, and four assistants—these are people who Kurt has yet to meet, and he tries his best to memorize names and faces. After they chat briefly about the history of their industry and horse breeding and training program—most of this sadly going over Kurt's head—Kelly and his eldest apprentices take Kurt, Blaine, Trent, and David over to the far side of the paddock, where five horses are saddled and waiting.

Kelly asks, "Blaine, would you like to do the honors?"

"Of course," Blaine answers, taking Kurt's hand and leading him from horse to horse. "This is Shade. Molly. Bruce. Patrick. And Lawrence. Lawrence is my horse. The others are often ridden by my parents and our immediate staff. They're all very well-behaved, I promise."

Kurt smiles nervously. "I—do I pet them, or...?"

"Here," Blaine says, handing him two apples, both sliced roughly into thirds. "Let them smell you, and the fruit, and just sort of pat their muzzles if they seem relaxed. Mind their hooves."

Kurt has to admit that these large, strong, intelligent creatures intimidate him. When he looks at them he can only think of being thrown, or stepped on, or dragged off at high speeds with no knowledge of how to make them stop. He's nervous, but he tries not to be, doing only as Blaine instructs. They take the fruit eagerly enough but otherwise seem unimpressed by him.

Blaine smiles, dragging a comforting hand up and down Kurt's back as he finishes greeting them. Because of the thinness of the shirt that Kurt is wearing, he can feel the heat of Blaine's hand keenly—it's both distracting and reassuring. 

When his hands are empty, he takes a step back. "Well," he says, huffing out a tense breath. "I'm alive, and I didn't send them running?"

Everyone laughs, and the tension is broken.

Kelly's apprentices make small talk with Trent and David as they mount up, leaving Kelly, Blaine, and Kurt with Lawrence and Patrick.

"Patrick is probably the least easily spooked horse that I've ever known," Blaine says, leading Kurt closer to him. "So I think we'll start you on him, if you're still willing to try."

Kurt nods, and swipes his sticky palms off on his pants. "I'm willing."

Blaine smiles. "Okay." 

He tells Kurt where to put his feet and hands, and teaches him how to hoist himself up onto the horse without hurting either of them. 

Kurt is unsteady as soon as he begins, unprepared for how slippery getting up onto the horse feels, with the saddle shifting under his grip and the horse taking a step to adjust to his weight. When he's finally sitting in the saddle, he takes a breath and braces his hands on the pommel.

"Good up there?" Blaine asks. "I'm going to get onto Lawrence, and then I'll teach you how to start and stop Patrick walking. We won't go any faster than a walk today, okay?"

"Oh, thank goodness," Kurt says, so visibly relieved that it makes Blaine laugh.

A moment later, Kurt thinks that this might be worth it in the end if he gets to watch Blaine mount a horse regularly—the muscles in his bare arms and leather-clad backside and thighs are a sight to behold, and the way that his vest pulls tight over his shoulders when he bends over the horse's neck to pat and talk into its ear is almost too scandalous for the light of day.

Kurt blushes—but isn't precisely embarrassed—when Blaine catches him staring, and winks at him.

Side by side, the horses are comfortable with each other. Blaine reaches out, arranges Patrick's reins and shows Kurt how to hold them.

"All set, Blaine?" Kelly calls.

"Yes. We'll let you get back to work."

"It was a pleasure. Will we see you for supper later?" Kelly asks.

Blaine smiles. "Not tonight, but we'll talk soon."

"Fair enough. Enjoy your ride!" He mounts his own horse and disappears across the paddock.

Kurt shortly proves to them both that he has no natural instincts when it comes to horses.

It's difficult for him to learn how to make the horse move for him at a certain speed with just his legs and voice and the hope that the horse won't rear up and cause him to break every bone in his body in a fall—there is no doubt that he is failing miserably at setting that fear aside—but he tries, and the horse is patient with him. 

Soon enough they're walking out of the paddock at a slow but steady pace, Trent and David hanging back until they're about twenty or so yards behind them. 

He tries to relax by focusing on things that he finds soothing. The noise of hooves clopping on the ground is pleasant. The sun is warm but not hot overhead, sitting in a clear blue Summer sky. There's a faint, cool breeze, and he's riding beside Blaine. He comes out of this revelry once his hear stops racing quite so fast, and realizes that Blaine is staring at him.

"Sorry," Blaine says, smiling. He reaches into his pocket. "I meant to give you these before we even mounted up." He presents Kurt with a pair of butter-soft leather riding gloves—they're a beautifully rich earth brown color with a delicate white stitching.

"Oh, they're lovely, thank you." Blaine holds Patrick's reins while Kurt puts the gloves on.

"So tell me what you've been up to," Blaine says.

He tells Blaine about Ben and his lessons with Lucy, and then updates Blaine on Sam. Kurt had insisted a month ago that Sam would remain an outside dog, and Blaine had warned him that he should not get his hopes up about the success of that plan. Naturally, since then, Sam has made bold inroads into the house, and Kurt hasn't had the heart to turn him out. Blaine laughs, and dishes out an "I told you so" that Kurt takes without complaint, too amused to be annoyed.

It's only when they take a turn into denser forest that Kurt realizes he hasn't panicked or given much thought to the animal beneath him for miles.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he says, pleased with himself.

"You are," Blaine replies. "You're doing beautifully."

"It's only because he is so slow and calm. You gave me an old man horse, didn't you?"

Blaine smirks. "Don't ruin a good thing."

Kurt sighs. "I forgive you. I think I may actually prefer old man horses."

"What is your view of old man husbands?"

"You're not even thirty, Blaine."

They share a laugh over that.

When they arrive suddenly at the edge of the forest, Kurt isn't prepared for the view. He gasps aloud at the sight of green fields as far as the eye can see—shoulder-high grass dotted with patches of wildflowers, flooded with sunlight and buzzing with life, moving in the Summer breeze.

"Oh," Kurt whispers. "That is breathtaking."

"We cleared a path not long ago, and there's a tamped down spot near the treeline where we can eat and relax. This way."

When they find the spot, Trent and David set up their own meal at the far end of the cleared area.

Kurt stays on his horse even after Blaine dismounts. He's not quite sure about getting down.

Blaine smiles, and comes up alongside Patrick with one hand on his bridle. "Swing your leg over and then step down. There you go." 

When Kurt lets go, Blaine puts his hands around Kurt's waist, and braces him as he drops. They stay there for a moment after Kurt's feet are safely on the ground, their upper bodies hidden from the view of their chaperones by Patrick's body.

Blaine's hands slide around his waist, flatten over his belly and tug him close, allowing their bodies to curve together. This is overwhelming enough, but then Blaine's mouth slots behind the curve of Kurt's ear, and he whispers scratchily, "You look so gorgeous. Kurt, do you have any _idea_ —"

Kurt bites back a noise, and then groans, "You're wearing _form-fitting leather_ , Blaine."

Blaine laughs, releasing him. "You have a point."

Lunch is sandwiches, bottles of ice-cold milk, and fruit leather. When he's finished eating, he sits back on the blanket that Blaine had spread beneath them and watches the horses graze.

"When I need to get away from the stresses of the compound, this is where I go," Blaine says.

"I can see why." Kurt takes another piece of fruit leather, knocking his boots together. "The last time we saw each other, we talked about—talking about you."

"We did," Blaine says, smiling. "What would you like to hear?"

"Tell me what it was like to be a little boy in the middle of all of this."

Blaine sits up, folds his legs and leans his elbows on them. "My parents' time was much harder than mine. When I was small, we had a few years that were excellent for trade, and after that things became easier—we had more food, less disease, and better population growth. By the time I was old enough to understand the world around me, we were doing well. I was very lucky. They noticed early on that I desired only my own sex. The search for a similarly aligned boy who was also a carrier—you can imagine how frantic that was. Between the census takers and the medical staff, it was like a manhunt, and it was impossible to hide from me. They explained it as best as they could, but it wasn't until I was maybe the same age that you were when you lost your mother that I began to understand." He smiles. "I was always very vocal about wanting a husband and romance. They tried to bend the process around that whim, for my sake."

Kurt smiles. "I think it's wonderful that they chose to do anything they could to make it a happy thing for you. In his own way, my dad did the same thing."

"They did," Blaine says. "When I turned eleven, they told me that you had been born a year before, and then they tried to explain it all to me, from beginning to end. Understanding the difference between pre-contracts, contracts, courtship, and betrothal at that age was almost impossible for me. I understood love and marriage, because I could see those things around me every day in my own house, but the rest?" Blaine shakes his head. "And at the same time, they warned me that all of this was just talk—that it might not even happen, that I might never meet you, at least not in that capacity. I was confused by it all."

How different their experiences were in that regard, Kurt thinks. He doesn't remember being confused when his dad explained the process to him—just unsure.

"It made more sense as I grew older, of course," Blaine says. "When I turned sixteen I transitioned from work training to work. By the time I turned eighteen I was already taking over industry direct reports from my parents. It came easily to me. I had grown up surrounded by these programs, living side by side with the people who ran and worked on them, many of them my own kin. By age twenty, I was more or less managing the majority of the compound's day to day interests. And that—that was when your father sent word to us."

Kurt tilts his head. "What changed for you?"

"It all felt so much more real," Blaine says, sounding far away. "The truth is that being told a ten year old boy has been chosen to be your future husband and co-leader when you're twenty is—unsettling and strange." He smiles, seems to come back to himself, and reaches out for Kurt's hand to lace their fingers. "But that changed when I began to learn things about you. I knew from the start that I liked what I heard of you. I wasn't always patient or smart about the way I felt but when your father signed the pre-contract, I committed myself fully." Blaine pauses, and then confesses, looking awkward, "I—I stopped taking lovers, then, of course."

Those words trample up Kurt's spine, leaving him stiff.

He is aware that Blaine has had sex. That Blaine had _stopped_ having sex the year that the pre-contract was signed—that, he had not known. His mind reels. Blaine has been celibate for over six years. Blaine has kept himself from all others for Kurt for over _six years_.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, worried. "Does it upset you, that I've had lovers?"

"Oh, oh, no," Kurt blurts, drawing Blaine's hands into his lap. "I just had no idea that you—began to abstain so long ago."

Blaine stares at him. "You—you thought that I would pass the time I spent waiting for you by inviting men into my bed?"

_Oh, dear._

"I don't know what I thought," Kurt says, embarrassed of his own ignorance. "I was told that you were not inexperienced as I was, and I just assumed that—that those experiences were a part of your life and would continue to be, until we were sure that we wanted to marry."

Blaine wriggles his hands free, and takes Kurt's face between them. "Once I knew that we were promised to one another, I couldn't stand to let anyone else touch me. I wanted to make things between us as even as I could. From that day forward, at least, I wanted to wait for you, too." 

Kurt doesn't know what to say. His cheeks burn. "I'm—that is very, um, kind, Blaine. Very thoughtful of you."

Blaine sighs in relief. "Thank god. I thought you might be disappointed."

He pauses, and then ventures, "They did tell you, though, that I am—that I have never—I—" 

Blaine's eyes grow wide and dark and wet. He smooths a hand up and over Kurt's bicep. "I know, Kurt. You don't have to explain."

He stares back at Blaine, unaware of licking his mouth to wet it until Blaine's eyes follow the motion. He blushes, and feels that same heat rush through his body.

"I think I might have to, actually," he whispers, staring at Blaine's plump pink mouth. "I don't have the faintest idea of what two men do together. I don't know what—what my body can do—in that way. I don't know _anything_. And you do, and I just—"

"Please, please, stop," Blaine begs, clasping his arms. "I don't want you to worry about that. I—I hear you, I truly do." His hands coast higher, trace the line of Kurt's collarbone to his shoulders, where they hook and tug. He presses their heads together, sideways, hair against hair, his voice lowering. "If you'll let me, if you still want to when the time comes—Kurt, I'll—" Even lower, raspier, heavier, and Kurt's stomach drops. "—I'll teach you everything."

_Oh._

They're so close. Blaine's breath is warm against the side of his face, along his jaw and all the way back to his ear. He's so sensitive there; he can't stop _feeling_.

"Blaine," he whispers, unsure of what to say. But that name comes out like a plea, and then Blaine is stroking the back of his neck and nuzzling in beneath his jaw, and there's the scrape of his stubble and the raw masculine scent of him, grass and pine and leather and horses, and Kurt stutters in a lungful of air, but only just. "P-please—"

"We can't," Blaine whimpers, pressing into the concave dip of Kurt's throat, and he repeats, even more broken, even breathier, "We c-can't—"

He knows it's the wrong choice, but he arches his neck to let Blaine in closer. 

If this is something that they can sneak past their chaperones, he isn't going to stop it—he doesn't want to stop it. His body is vibrating with it, his veins soaked syrupy-slow with a wanting that he doesn't even understand—it pools and pools in his belly, in his groin, until he realizes that he's having a physical reaction.

And this is when they're caught. Trent and David begin to make very loud, interrupting noises.

Blaine groans and tears himself away. Kurt curls his fists into the blanket beneath him to stop himself from dragging Blaine back against his body.

"I'm sorry," Blaine gasps, looking wrecked. 

Kurt realizes that he is just as rumpled, just as flushed, that his arms are covered in bumps and his nipples are stiff and showing through the thin shirt he's wearing, and that his—his—

_Oh, god, no._

He draws a plate politely over his lap and suddenly becomes very interested in a second helping of lunch. "I'm sorry, too," he blurts, and then promptly stuffs half of a sandwich into his mouth.

Blaine's mouth quirks softly at that. It doesn't escape Kurt's notice that he is making similar use of his own plate. "Was there—um. Where were we?"

"Let's talk about your parents. That ought to do the trick."

Blaine laughs. "Excellent. Yes. That's perfect, actually."

By the time that they begin to lose the light, Kurt feels as if he's run miles—he's warm and sweaty and sore, in both body and mind.

After sitting in silence for a while, Blaine tracing shapes on Kurt's forearm, he asks softly, "Was that too much? Before?"

"They didn't seem to care for it," Kurt says, watching Trent and David packing up.

"I pushed it."

"We pushed it," Kurt corrects him.

Blaine exhales. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Kurt swallows. "I think I do, now." He adds dryly, "But I may have forgotten everything that you taught me today, so we're back to square one with horse riding, unfortunately."

Blaine laughs, and rolls his eyes at himself before helping Kurt to his feet.

Back at the saddled and loaded horses, Trent gives them a look that says _don't think I didn't see that, you two_ —Blaine smiles and shrugs. Kurt has the grace to avoid eye contact until they're safely ahead of their chaperones on the trail.

They're almost home when something spooks Blaine's horse.

In the middle of a sentence they all go silent, and Blaine pulls Lawrence to a stop. He puts an arm up. Trent and David hold their horses, and Kurt takes the hint and does the same.

"Blaine?" Trent calls.

Blaine looks from right to left across the trail, and then left to right. "Hold a moment," he says. "Lawrence smelled something." He gazes into the trees on either side of the road.

Kurt tries to find what Blaine is looking for, but he can't see anything, either. 

It happens very suddenly.

There's a rustling in the underbrush to their right, and then something huge and dark and shrieking springs out onto the road and then up and under Patrick. 

Kurt knows that Blaine had told him what to do if Patrick reared or panicked, but when it happens he forgets everything. The animal going wild beneath him sends his entire world upside down, and before he can even tighten his hands on the reins Patrick takes off, not at a trot or a gallop, but a dead run.

Kurt holds on for dear life, and that's all he can do. His world is reduced to his body bouncing on the horse's back. The forest is a blur around him. The frightened huffing of his horse is the only thing that he can hear above the roaring of his own heart in his ears and the frantic thump of the horse's hooves beating the road.

It feels like it goes on forever, and then suddenly the ground beneath him begins to quake even harder—it's Blaine, riding up alongside of him at a slightly faster run, standing up in his stirrups and holding his reins in one hand while reaching out for Kurt's with the other.

But what will happen if he lets them go and Blaine doesn't grab them in time?

"Kurt," Blaine shouts. "Give me the reins. Just give me the reins. You're alright." Kurt can barely hear him above the clatter of hooves and the noises of exertion that their horses are making.

He has to trust Blaine. He knows that. He forces himself to release his death grip on the reins, and even though it takes quite a lot of tugging and several verbal commands, Patrick slows to a gallop, and then a trot, and finally a walk, panting and tossing his head. It's only then, when the world stops moving, that Kurt realizes he's shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"Hey, hey," Blaine croons.

He isn't sure whether Blaine is talking to him or Patrick—either way, it makes him feel better. 

Trent and David ride up beside them, looking frantic.

"Are you alright, Kurt?" Trent asks.

"I'm fine," Kurt insists, through gritted teeth. He isn't, really, but he needs to be. He needs to stop shaking. He needs his heart to stop slamming against the inside of his chest.

"Patrick caught on something," Blaine says, immediately noticing the horse's sidestepping. David moves in to check on him as Blaine dismounts and hands Lawrence's reins to Trent. "Kurt, can you get a leg over Patrick for me? Just do that and I'll get you down the rest of the way, okay?" 

He manages to do as Blaine asks, and essentially falls off of the horse and into Blaine's arms.

"It's okay," Blaine says, rubbing his back. "You're okay."

"I hurt him," Kurt says, feeling guilty as well as useless.

"He bolted. You've never had to deal with that before. It's not your fault."

"If I'd done what you'd told me to do, he wouldn't have run off like that."

"Shh, no, it's alright," Blaine murmurs.

Kurt can't bring himself to continue to argue, though he feels no less responsible.

"There's a bit of jagged rock caught on the shoe," David says. "Didn't break the skin, thank goodness. I'm going to get it out and then we'll walk him home."

"What spooked him?" Trent asks.

"Wild pig," Blaine says, still rubbing Kurt's arms and back. He glances at Kurt. "Does anything hurt?"

"I'm fine," he repeats.

"You're shaking," Blaine counters. "That was definitely not how I wanted your first day on a horse to end. I'm sorry. Do you think you'll be alright riding back with me on Lawrence?"

"If I do—I don't want to, um, be the driver," Kurt admits.

Blaine smiles patiently. "No, of course not." 

Trent and David ride ahead of Kurt and Blaine, walking Patrick between them. 

As they ride, Kurt's fear and anxiety slowly ebb. He closes his eyes, presses his cheek to Blaine's warm, hard shoulder, and just breathes.

It takes quite a bit of staring at the rear ends of their chaperone's horses before he realizes that he and Blaine aren't being watched. Trent and David can only glance back at them every now and then, riding like this—and when they do, they are too far ahead to truly see anything.

Kurt feels a thrill of excitement, and his thoughts shift even farther away from the anxiety over what had just happened and closer to the attractive man nestled between his legs.

His arms are wrapped around Blaine's waist. He tries to stop himself from feeling every inch of where they are plastered together, tries to stop thinking about the ripple of Blaine's back muscles against his chest and belly, but it's impossible. He can't take his mind off of what had happened in the field earlier. He flattens his palms against Blaine's chest, and hooks his chin over Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine takes a hand off of Lawrence's reins and puts it atop Kurt's right hand. "Feeling better?"

"A little," Kurt answers.

Blaine's fingers slot between his, and he draws Kurt's arm farther around him. After a significant pause, he teases Kurt, "You know. Out of all the ways that could have ended—this one is not so bad."

Kurt smiles against Blaine's bare upper arm, knowing that he can feel it against his skin. If his lips brush longer than a smile should require, it's entirely coincidental.

"Agreed," he says, and drops a soft kiss on Blaine's skin, while dragging his hand up and down the center of Blaine's chest, just inside the flap of his vest. He's warm, a little sweaty, and smells deliciously sharp. Kurt presses a line of kisses from the top of his arm to the nape of his neck and, when he arrives there, nuzzles against the spot. The tip of his middle finger grazes one of Blaine's nipples through his shirt. He can feel Blaine's heart thud against his hand.

"Kurt," Blaine groans.

"Yes?" Kurt asks, low and breathy and private.

Blaine's body hitches in the saddle. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

"You aren't alone in your suffering," he whispers, kissing down the back of Blaine's neck, to the top knob of his spine, where he's filthy with road dust. It's gritty against Kurt's tongue.

"Oh, god," Blaine blurts, his hips shifting again.

"I'm—I'm sorry. This isn't fair, is it?"

"I'm not quite sure I asked you to stop?" Blaine asks, with an overwhelmed, breathy laugh.

"Still probably not the best idea." For a moment, he does and says nothing more.

"That you are so skilled at teasing me with no previous experience is nothing less than impressive."

He laughs. "Oh, don't—I'm stumbling in the dark and we both know it."

"Please believe me when I tell you that you could not be more wrong about that."

Kurt ducks his cheek against Blaine's hair. "You did say something about trusting my instincts."

"Indeed."

A pause, and then Kurt says, "Forgive me for teasing you."

"Instead of accepting your apology, I could simply tease you in return."

"Don't be silly. Sitting like this? I have all the leverage."

Blaine tilts his head back and to the side, and Kurt can see his profile and wicked smile, glowing with the light of the setting sun that's coming through the trees ahead of them. 

"Is that what you think?" he asks, his voice as thick as honey.

Blaine starts rocking back against him in the saddle, the curve of his backside pressing, high and deep, in between Kurt's thighs. Kurt actually gasps, and drops his hands to Blaine's thighs in surprise. He intends to still Blaine by doing so, but ends up simply digging his fingers in, holding his breath as his body betrays him, as the firm globes of Blaine's buttocks rub against a part of his anatomy that he has absolutely no control over.

Blaine whispers hotly against his jaw, "Did you think that buckskin would prevent me from feeling you?"

"Oh," Kurt moans. 

He has most definitely lost this particular round.

He buries his face against Blaine's temple and accepts his defeat, rutting forward against Blaine's backside with desperate little jolts of his pelvis. He has no idea what he's trying to achieve—the friction feels as good as it does confusing, winding a tension at the base of his spine that he doesn't understand.

"B-Blaine," he whimpers, after a minute or two of this thrill. "Stop, stop, I—"

Blaine stops. 

Kurt automatically regrets the request, but they're just outside of the stables now—the timing is right to back off, and they do, shuddering and panting. Again, Kurt finds himself avoiding eye contact with everyone but Blaine as the horses are seen to. 

He receives a brief lesson in horse care, and is shown how to put away the equipment. They have a cold drink in the stables while Patrick is looked at—thankfully, he's alright. Kurt lingers in his stall afterward, petting his soft nose and apologizing to him when no one is listening. Patrick looks at him with huge, trusting brown eyes as if to say _I'm fine_ , and Kurt declares him the nicest horse that Kurt has ever met, and feeds him an apple.

Blaine finds him, and watches him from the stall door, his hip cocked and his head tilted.

"Hate horses, huh?" he asks, smiling.

"I like this one," Kurt says. "I think. We'll see."

"I call that progress."

Kurt leans against the stall wall. When Blaine's nearness becomes too much of a temptation to resist he reaches out, takes one of Blaine's hands, and laces their fingers together, using the connection to draw Blaine closer. Standing there, almost chest to chest, he dares to kiss the side of Blaine's hand.

"We probably shouldn't let that happen again," he says. There is no question as to what he means by "that".

"Probably not," Blaine answers, sounding unconvinced.

Kurt smiles, closing his eyes and pressing Blaine's knuckles to his lips. He kisses over them, lips parted, and confesses breathlessly, "You felt good. You felt so good, Blaine, and I have no idea what to do about it, but—"

Blaine risks the brush of a fingertip along the seam of Kurt's mouth, his voice even lower than Kurt's when he replies, "Pleasing you is all that I care about. Having you against me like that, it was—" He laughs bent over their laced hands. "Sorry."

"We're doing it again," Kurt breathes, dotting Blaine's knuckles with the tip of his tongue as he kisses them.

Blaine is breathing heavily. "There won't be a person in the stable who doesn't know exactly how I feel about you if we don't stop this."

"That should persuade me to stop, shouldn't it?" he asks, kissing down the length of Blaine's pinky finger. "A part of me wants everyone to know. That you want me. That I do this to you." He kisses the center of Blaine's palm.

"Oh," Blaine moans, his knees wobbling.

They can hear the noise of footsteps and voices coming closer.

"Send me home," Kurt groans, forcing himself to stop. "Send me home before I embarrass us."

"Let's throw ourselves on Trent and David's hospitality. It's their job to keep us from this, isn't it?" Blaine asks.

Kurt makes a joke of throwing himself behind David, and Blaine puts an arm around Trent's shoulders. They all look at each other, and David roll his eyes and Trent begins to laugh.

Kurt mimes using David as a human shield. "Take me away, David."

"Has he made an attempt at deflowering you already?"

Blaine narrows his eyes. Kurt giggles. 

If they only knew...

"What a cad," Trent says, in a monotone. "I shall inform his parents immediately."

"I know where you sleep," Blaine says.

"Yes, in the room next to yours, which means that my ears must suffer the consequences every time that you see Kurt and—" 

Blaine puts a hand over Trent's mouth. "Modesty, man!"

"And I believe that's my cue to escort Kurt home before his ears burn off," David says.

"Oh, wait," Kurt says, and claims one last hug.

Blaine asks, "Next time?"

Kurt grins. He glances around the stables. He's been thinking about this all day.

"Next time," he announces, "we're going for a drive."

Blaine groans, and Trent and David erupt into peals of laughter.

 

*

 

[ ](http://hopelesslydevotedgleek.tumblr.com/post/89803796390/the-anderson-rose-when-kurt-lets-go-blaine-puts)

Art by [hopelesslydevotedgleek](http://hopelesslydevotedgleek.tumblr.com/)  


 

*

 

At around two months into the courtship, Blaine realizes that working twelve hours a day, six days a week, on top of managing a courtship, is perhaps more difficult than he originally thought it might be.

He's doing a routine walk through with the manager who oversees their micro-industry mining program, when he inhales a bit too much rock dust, and ends up on a camp bed in her office, trying to wave off her concern. Instead of sending for a medic, as she wants to, she sends for Trent at Blaine's request. Trent brings with him a flask of wine diluted with water, and makes Blaine drink from it.

"We warned you about sticking your head down those shafts for long periods of time, didn't we?" Trent teases.

Blaine hangs his head between his knees and says, "It's not just that." He sighs. "I think I need some time away from the compound."

Trent stares at him, concerned. "Are you ill?"

"I'm exhausted," Blaine admits. "I haven't spoken to Mother or Father about it, before you ask." When Trent is quiet for a moment too long, he goes on, "And you needn't remind me that it's impossible. I know that there is no time off from what we do."

"Actually," Trent says, "I was going to say that it's an excellent idea."

Blaine lifts his head. "Are you joking?"

"I should have seen it. I should have asked you how you were doing much sooner. I'm sorry, my friend." Blaine smiles. "I adore your parents, but they are all too accustomed to relying on you to do everything and please everyone. I don't believe that they've even noticed how much stress you've been laboring under." 

"Where would I be without you?" Blaine asks.

Trent smiles, and then says, "If you choose to disappear into the woods to escape us, you must remember that David is watching Kurt like a hawk. Don't you try and sneak into his cabin."

"Your opinion of me has fallen so far," Blaine sighs, feigning offense.

"Blaine Devon Anderson—"

"Not the full name treatment!"

"Kurt has enough to be getting on with as it is."

Blaine laughs, shaking his head. "I have no intention of dropping in on him. Contrary to what you and David seem to believe, Kurt and I have every intention of doing this properly. Besides, he has made plans for our next date, and I'm happy to wait on his pleasure."

Trent narrows his eyes. "Don't think that we didn't notice how you two took advantage of that wild pig mishap."

"Mm, but it was not I who initiated that, you see," Blaine informs him, smiling impishly. 

Trent rolls his eyes and groans. "Is this the part where you brag about how even inexperienced youths can't keep their hands off of you?"

"Slander! When have I ever bragged about such things?"

Trent throws the empty wine skin at him. "You've never been in love before. Love changes people."

Blaine catches it with a smile on his face. 

"You're right. You always are," he says. And then, when the thought coalesces, he adds, "I think I might need an assistant. A second, who can cover for me when I need to take time off, as Kurt suggested for the managers." He puts up a hand as Trent opens his mouth. "No. Not you. You do too much already. But—I will ask you to draw up a list of candidates. We'll see how the interview process goes. Are you in agreement?"

"It's a good idea. And then you can go hunting with your mother, or fishing with your father. Embroider. Bake a cake. Come up with a new hairstyle." He glares at Trent playfully, and Trent laughs.

"I'm going to finish up here, and then take the rest of the day off. Gideon can handle the Carsons; they have a simple boundary dispute that needs deciding. The governor from Shell is running late; she won't arrive in time to sit down this afternoon, so redirect her to a room and we'll meet tomorrow morning over breakfast." 

After they empty their mugs, Blaine takes a deep breath, and then claps Trent on the shoulder. "How do you feel about baking a cake?"

Trent laughs.

*

The morning of their next date, Blaine wakes early to take breakfast with his parents before meeting Trent back in his rooms.

He's had their drive on his mind for days and so, the first thing that he asks Trent is, "Has Kurt been to visit the transport sheds on his own already?"

"Unofficially. He's friendly with the head repairman. He made a point of selecting the particular vehicle that he's going to drive today himself. He wasn't satisfied with the original one that we gave him," Trent answers.

Blaine laughs, pleased. "Perhaps I might actually come to trust those explosions waiting to happen if Kurt were to give them all a thorough inspection."

There's a knock at the door, and Trent calls for the person to enter. Blaine hopes that it's nothing urgent; he wouldn't want them to be late for Kurt.

It's Ben, the household tailor, with his apprentice in tow. 

"Sorry to barge in," he says. "I heard that you're off to Kurt's." He motions behind him, to where his apprentice is standing, practically invisible under a pile of packages. "I have the Summer portion of his wardrobe completed, earlier than expected, and I thought you might want to surprise him with it.."

Normally, a change in date day plans would be unheard of, but Blaine is intrigued by the wardrobe and thinks that it might be nice to have a little surprise for Kurt this time around. Trent is obviously about to offer that they do it some other time, but Blaine holds up a hand.

"I think that if we leave right now, we could drop in on him before he leaves for the sheds."

"Do you think he'll mind?" Trent asks.

"I'm sure that he would love to see his new clothes." Blaine smiles at Ben, who smiles back.

"I think _you_ would love to see his new clothes," Trent accuses.

Blaine laughs. "As if you wouldn't."

Without another word, Trent goes downstairs to call for a transport.

The four of them pick up David and then drive on to Kurt's cabin, where an interesting sight greets them.

The transport that Kurt has selected for their drive today is up on a jack on his front lawn, and Kurt himself is on his back beneath the engine block. As they park, Kurt crawls out from underneath the transport to greet his unexpected visitors.

Blaine stares at the sight of him, rumpled and sweaty, wearing a ratty pair of pants and a shirt that's torn at the hem; both are streaked with grease and pale oil, and Kurt's face is streaked with several finger-shaped dabs of muck, as well. His arms and shoulders bulge under the strain of securing a tool that he had been holding.

"Blaine?" he calls across the lawn, his face lighting up. He wipes his hands on a rag that's tucked into his hip pocket.

"Surprise!" Blaine shouts back.

"Oh my god," he squeals, jogging over to toss his arms around Blaine's neck. "I didn't know that you were looking for a repair demonstration today!"

Blaine laughs, winding his arms around Kurt's slender waist. Kurt smells like metal and grease and clean sweat. 

"I'm nowhere near ready, you cheater," Kurt says, playfully reprimanding. "I thought we were meeting at the sheds?"

"Ben wanted to deliver the part of your wardrobe that has been completed. I thought you might enjoy the surprise." Blaine can't bring himself to let go just yet. He flattens his hands down Kurt's impossibly long back. "Is the transport ready? If it isn't, well, that would just be—such a shame."

Kurt laughs. "You aren't getting out of it; don't even try. The transport is fine. Something got into it last night and chewed through one of the belts. I just finished replacing it." He cards his fingers through Blaine's hair, letting out a sigh. "I've missed you." Trent clears his throat to remind them that they're wasting time, and Kurt shoots him a friendly glare. He loops an arm through Blaine's. "Did you say something about my wardrobe?"

Blaine grins.

After that, there's a rise in volume as everyone greets Kurt. 

Trent and David shift over to glance at the work that he'd been doing on the transport. 

Blaine watches, helplessly drawn in, as Kurt and Ben embrace and laugh like old friends. They don't have the time to sort through everything, but Ben slits open a package or two so that Kurt can select something to wear.

Kurt serves them drinks, and then pulls Blaine aside. "I want to drive you up to this lake that I've heard so much about," he says. "Summer is on its way out, so I thought that we could go swimming."

Blaine's face warms. 

On the compound there are two ways to go swimming—naked, if you're with close friends, or garbed in a semi-formal bathing costume, if you aren't. None of them have their bathing costumes, and to swim naked with Kurt would definitely be a violation of the courtship rules.

"Oh, don't give him that look," Trent says. "We can go swimming in our underpants just the once."

Kurt looks confused.

David explains, "We usually don't wear clothes to swim. Or, if we're entertaining more publicly, there are bathing costumes—"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "I see. I probably should have asked in advance, then."

"Not at all," David says. "Trent's suggestion is a good one."

"So you all won't mind if I pop on one of my new pairs of bathing shorts?" Kurt asks, eyebrows waggling.

He grins. "Not at all."

Inside, he's panicking, just a little; it's been difficult enough as it is to not stare, and pine, and ache, every time that they're close. Between partially nudity and playful water antics, swimming could make resisting even more of a challenge. In fact, it had often been the excuse that Blaine had used to disappear with lovers before; he has many fond memories of cool water on bare skin and long afternoons spent in sunlight and on grass.

Ben, his apprentice, Trent, and David are deep in conversation when Kurt goes to wash up and change, and so Blaine thinks that he might as well sneak in a little privacy for them, if Kurt is interested. 

He waits until the noise of the shower is long gone, and then knocks on Kurt's bedroom door.

"Come in," Kurt calls.

Blaine steps inside, leaving the door partially open. 

It's odd, standing in Kurt's bedroom so casually. He's seen it before, of course, but it's much more lived in now—so much more Kurt's own space. It smells like Kurt's soap and perfume, and the walls and shelves are more thickly covered in his things. The bed is messy with rumpled blankets—Blaine flushes hot—and the closet and clothing chests are thrown open, brimming over with his clothes.

Kurt steps out from behind the privacy screen. He looks stunningly gorgeous in a loose tunic and pants that end at mid-calf, sandals strapped between his toes and his hair teased high. 

Blaine tries not to stare, but it's almost impossible; Kurt's wide shoulders, thick biceps, hairy forearms and calves all make Blaine quite literally unsteady with desire.

"Now those can't possibly be pure thoughts," Kurt drawls, warm and low, meeting his gaze. Blaine closes his mouth. "Care to share one?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Just one?"

"Just one."

"I was thinking about pressing you down onto those blankets."

Kurt glances down at the bed, a blush blooming red over the bridge of his nose. "That thought had also crossed my mind." He looks at Blaine from beneath his eyelashes. "The question is, that being the case, do we have to fight over who presses who?"

"That is a fight I would be more than happy to lose," Blaine says breathlessly, his fingers twitching at his sides. 

"We always seem to tumble down this particular rabbit hole," Kurt replies, crossing the room. He laces both of their hands together, and holds them at their sides as he tugs their bodies together.

"We do," Blaine agrees. After a pause, he asks, "You're going to make me ride up front, aren't you?"

The tension breaks at that.

Kurt laughs. "Naturally." He leads Blaine out into the living room. "Come on, passenger Blaine."

"Do let me know if anything is out of order," Ben says, shaking Kurt's free hand. "We can meet to discuss the cold weather pieces later this week?"

"Looking forward to it," Kurt says, pumping his hand.

"Well then," Ben announces, patting his sides and motioning to his apprentice. "We're off. Enjoy your swim, lads!"

"Could you two maybe put the food in the car?" Kurt asks Trent and David, once Ben has gone.

The car is parked directly outside and the cabin's curtains are open, so Trent and David can't refuse them the semi-privacy.

Kurt slides his arms around Blaine's waist and pulls him in to a snug embrace. In return, Blaine puts his arms around Kurt's neck—he has to almost come up on the balls of his feet to do so, and he likes the way that it feels. 

"I heard about Gregory," Kurt says. "How have you been holding up?"

"Word gets around."

"Lucy considers you to be the nephew that she never had," Kurt jokes.

"Gregory has been very helpful. He's going through training now, although the fact that he covered for me for a full week without incident on short notice has more or less secured the position for him."

"I wish I was far enough along in my own training to help you," Kurt says, stroking his back.

"In time," Blaine says, smiling. He presses his cheek to Kurt's jaw and inhales. "It's too beautiful a day for this kind of talk. I just want to be with you. And assuming that we survive this journey—" Kurt laughs. "—a swim sounds lovely. You can update me on your lessons, if you like." He smiles. "Unless we have more biographical information to share?"

"I think we've spent more than enough time on history for now." Kurt lowers his voice, and adds, his lips brushing the shell of Blaine's ear, "I'd like to get to the 'seeing you half-naked with a valid excuse' part of the festivities, if it's all the same to you."

Blaine shivers. "Kurt," he whispers, gently admonishing, but even as he says it he's scraping his fingernails down the back of Kurt's neck, and lifting himself up to press their bodies together. "Is Lucy also teaching you the fine art of flirtation?"

"I'm picking it up as I go along," Kurt replies, pressing his face into the curve of Blaine's throat. 

"You are a fast learner," Blaine says, arching his neck to allow Kurt to nuzzle down its length.

At that moment, David sticks his head in the front door. "Ahem! We should probably get going."

Kurt groans, tearing their bodies apart but leaving his fingers on Blaine's hips. "Yes, David. Just let me grab a change of clothes."

Once they're strapped into the transport, Kurt slides behind the controls, starts up the engine, and guides them out onto the road.

Blaine's teeth clamp tightly together. Hiding in the backseat—his usual tactic for coping with transport rides—still leaves him shaky and sweating. Riding up front is much worse.

"I asked them to re-coat the tires and replace the fluids, and then I took some belts home with me to finish the job," Kurt explains as he drives. "You've got some vicious critters out here."

"We could get you a hunting dog."

"Sam does what he can. But no worries—I'll just fortify the shed."

Blaine tries to take his mind off of the rattling of the engine by asking, "Were the mechanics at the repair shed not capable? Is that why you did the repair yourself?"

"They could use some training on modern technique, but I wouldn't say that they're incapable. I just felt like doing it myself; it's been a while since I got my hands dirty," Kurt answers, watching Blaine out of the corner of his eye. "But I'll be honest with you—the sheds themselves are below standard. The buildings need maintenance, they're understaffed, and I saw too many vats and boxes with worryingly close expiration dates."

"What is Liam up to that he's not seeing all of this and correcting it?" Trent asks Blaine.

"Liam is a fine head mechanic," Kurt interjects, "but I think that he's overextended."

"It seems that I am not the only one, then," Blaine says.

In truth, he is beginning to notice this problem in every industry on the compound.

"It makes sense," Kurt says. "You're used to doing a lot with a little. But that was ours parents' generation—you've got more people at hand now, and some reorganizing could get them where they're needed."

"You know," David says, sounding smug, "I had a good feeling about this one from the start."

"Nonsense," Trent counters. "I had a good feeling about him from his birth. Don't try to take credit, David."

Kurt laughs, and then reaches over to squeeze Blaine's leg. "There they go. Doing okay?"

Blaine realizes that his right hand is white-knuckled, curled into a fist around one of the door handles. He'd meant to say something in response to Kurt's comment about moving staff around, but then the engine had made a popping-whining sort of noise, and he'd lost his train of thought.

"Ah, better than I usually do?" He sucks in a breath. "There's just—noises, and rattling, and the way the fuel smells when it burns off—ugh."

Kurt grins teasingly. "What a country man I've been given."

"Don't be cruel," Blaine replies, with a pout.

"I find it amusing that you complain of the smell of fuel when you spend all of that time in the stables with a smile on your face."

"It's a different sort of smell," Blaine counters, laughing. "It's natural—"

"The base components of the oil that we use to run the transport engines are natural."

"That's—not the same thing!"

"Oh, it's not, is it?"

Blaine pauses, and then adds sulkily, "It still smells."

Kurt laughs. "You are such a _boy_."

"You like me," he says, grinning wildly. "Admit it."

Kurt looks contemplative, and then blurts, "What would happen if we were stranded in the middle of nowhere and my arms were broken and only your driving skills could save us?"

"The same thing that would happen if your horse riding skills were the only thing that could save us, I expect."

"Ouch," Kurt replies, feigning hurt, and then smiles. "So what you're really saying is—we'd manage?"

"It would be a mess. But we'd get by."

"A fair summary," Kurt concedes.

"Did they get married when we weren't looking?" David asks Trent, in a stage whisper.

"Must have done," Trent whispers back dramatically.

"Hello," Kurt says, "let's rein in the sarcasm, shall we? I _will_ turn this transport around!"

When they arrive and the transport shudders to a stop, Blaine utters silent thanks for Kurt's driving skills.

They walk the last hundred or so yards from the side of the road to the lake, which is an Anderson family spot—it's neatly kept, with a fire pit and outdoor furniture. Trent and David set out the cool boxes while Kurt and Blaine find some flat rocks near the water's edge to lay their clothes on.

"Anything in the water that I should watch out for?" Kurt asks, unlacing his sandals.

"Not even harmless fish," Blaine answers, taking his boots off. "Most of the local bodies of water were stripped of food during leaner years. There are always plenty of insects, though."

Kurt waves a little pot of protective cream. "That I came prepared for." He lifts his tunic over his head.

Blaine tries not to stare. He really does. 

And he will not offer to rub that sharp-smelling cream all over Kurt's milky shoulders, either.

He will not. He will _not_.

Kurt is pink and pale from neck to pelvis, slender but thick and wide at his shoulders, neck, and biceps in a way that makes Blaine's belly twist. The pale yellow swimming shorts that he's wearing are held up by a drawstring decorated with Anderson roses; he tightens it, but not before Blaine gets a glimpse of how loose its hold had been, and of how the round curve of his pert buttocks had been the only thing holding them up on his narrow, thin hips. His strong calves and long feet and adorable toes make Blaine's fingers twitch and his mouth water.

Kurt smiles shyly at Blaine over his shoulder and, for one breathtaking moment, he looks every bit the sixteen year old boy that he is. He's so mature that Blaine often forgets just how young he actually is. Blaine is reminded now, standing there with his body throbbing at that sweet, youthful smile, at the flash in those blue-green eyes that seems to ask, "Do you like what you see?".

Without thinking too clearly, he blurts, "How am I supposed to follow that?" His eyes drift hungrily over Kurt's body. "I should just leave my clothes on."

The rush of red that floods Kurt's face and neck and ears at the compliment lets Blaine know that he'd said the right thing entirely by accident. Kurt laughs, ducks his face and flutters his hands in front of his body. 

"I'll ask very nicely, if that encourages you?" he asks, staring at Blaine hopefully.

Blaine strips down to his underwear, which is loose and breathable and falls to mid-thigh. He's confident enough to watch Kurt's expression as he does this, and can't suppress the thrill that courses through him when Kurt's eyes go from blue-green to a shockingly dark green around wide black pupils. The blush on his skin creeps all the way down to his collarbone, and the tips of his ears go so red that Blaine fears they might burst.

He exhales a soft, "Oh," and his hands drift down to cover himself.

"We should probably get in the water," Blaine says, smiling. "I guarantee you that it's cooler than we are right now."

"Excellent idea," Kurt says.

Trent and David join them, and the four of them spread out, treading water and cooling off. They talk about Kurt's lessons as they swim circles around each other. Kurt is showing a definite interest in Westerville's micro-industries, which makes Blaine happy.

"The goal of the program is province independence, of course, but it's too soon to tell if that will be doable in our lifetime," Blaine says. "Frankly, I'm not sure if independence is supportable. No matter how good our tech, things happen. Bad weather. Natural disasters. Shortage of raw materials. City Trade stalls, and then so does our research, sometimes for years at a stretch."

"That is all very true," Kurt says, "but should independence even be the program's goal? There's more to trade than the exchange of material goods. There's support in case of emergencies, sharing of historical record, and social rebuilding—we need friends, don't we? We need a sense of unity as a species, even if the individual provinces maintain their own customs and legal systems."

"I agree completely," Blaine says. "And so much of what we do and are is still passed down orally. Talk and trade go hand in hand—you can't have one without the other—so if we do away with trade, we risk losing incalculable amounts of knowledge."

They go back and forth like this for quite a while, until they're pruning up, and then Blaine suggests that they take a break to eat lunch. 

As usual, Trent and David sit a ways off from them, to allow them the privacy to talk. Once they're full and sleepy, Blaine moves to sit in between Kurt's legs and leans back into his arms.

"Is this alright?" he asks.

Kurt wraps his bare arms around Blaine's equally bare torso. "More than alright."

"Then again, the _last_ time we sat together like this..."

Kurt laughs. "Oh, no, don't. I know that I was awful that day."

"I gave as good as I got," Blaine replies. "You just surprised me."

"Is that a good thing?" Kurt asks.

Blaine drapes his arms over Kurt's, reveling in the pleasure of skin on skin contact, and those strong arms around him. "That is a very good thing."

Kurt exhales, and Blaine can feel the rise of his chest and belly and ribs. They're both covered in goosebumps from a combination of still-damp skin being caressed by the breeze and their bodies' closeness. Kurt tangles their fingers and closes his eyes, and curls inward to hold Blaine tighter.

"It'll be cool soon," he says, watching the wind move through the trees.

"We'll have to come up with more indoor date ideas."

"I know that the compound all but shuts down in Winter," Kurt says. "But I have no idea what the ruling family does during that time. Do you get to rest, finally?"

"Weeks often pass with nothing but snow and silence. So, yes, I do," Blaine answers, smiling.

"In that case," Kurt says wistfully, "I imagine a roaring fireplace, a pot of milky tea and a plate of sweet cakes, a very, very large blanket, and the two of us, just like this."

Blaine actually shivers with pleasure at that, refreshing the goosebumps on his skin. He sighs, and turns sideways to burrow deeper into Kurt's arms. "God, yes. Please, that, yes."

"Is there anything that I can do to help with the cold weather preparations?" Kurt asks.

"A visit to the engineering offices wouldn't go amiss," Blaine says. "They could use some pointers. Don't overwhelm them with anything major—we don't want to take the industry apart right before the cold sets in, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look."

"I'll pay a visit to the head engineer, then. I've been meaning to introduce myself to her."

"Marley's excellent, and she'll be thrilled to see you. I think you'll like her, too."

"Dad mentioned her from time to time," Kurt says, smiling. "He always had something good to say about her methods. I'm sure you're right."

This leads them into a conversation about how Kurt's dad is doing—very well, as it turns out, and Kurt fills him in on the details, including a rather humorous anecdote about Burt turning Kurt's bedroom into a retiring room which he can disappear into to tinker and drink at the end of the day.

They pack up the cool boxes as the light begins to dim. It's far from chilly out, but it isn't as warm as it had been at noon, and their damp clothes aren't much help.

Blaine offers to switch their positions so that they can stretch, and retrieves a blanket from the transport so that they can stay even as the cool evening air settles around them. Sitting between Blaine's legs sideways, Kurt cuddles against his chest, inside the circle of his arms.

Blaine drapes the blanket around them, and then kisses Kurt's hair. "Comfortable?"

"Very," Kurt answers, closing his eyes.

Blaine feels fairly talked out—they've been chatting nonstop all day, from the silliest flirtation to the most profound topic. Add swimming and a meal to that, and the sleepiness hovers until he can no longer resist it. He curls his arms around Kurt, savoring the slide of their naked torsos, and closes his eyes, tumbling into sleep as the sun goes down.

He wakes up to evening darkening all around them, surprised to find Kurt dead asleep against his chest. It's the sweetest thing that Blaine could have ever imagined sharing with him today—he looks so young in repose, he's snoring softly, there's even drool on his chin, and all Blaine can think about is how lovely he is, how precious he feels, lying there so trusting in Blaine's arms.

It would be so easy to brush their lips together. Trent and David are asleep on their own blanket, too far away to notice even if they were awake. Blaine can feel the urge make his lips tingle. 

But—no. Not like this. Not rushed, and not with Kurt asleep. The first time that he kisses Kurt, he wants it to matter and, more importantly, he wants it to be completely mutual.

So he simply draws his thumb around the shape of Kurt's mouth, and then jostles him. "Kurt?"

"Mmph."

"It's getting dark."

Kurt groans and turns, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist. "No—no, don't go."

Blaine smiles. "We have to, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Kurt breathes, his eyes cracking open. "We wasted so many hours."

"Not at all. It was lovely to share sleep with you," he says, kissing Kurt's temple. "We should go wake our brave sentinels. They're doing such a thorough job, aren't they?"

Blaine can hear David and Trent snoring from twenty yards away. 

Kurt laughs. "What would we do without them?"

Blaine could list several very enjoyable activities that they could engage in without Trent and David, but instead of going off on that tangent he jests, "You know...the cool boxes still have cold water in them, I'm sure."

Kurt eyes widen. "Oh, no. We need them on our side! Who knows when their resolve might weaken?"

"You have a point," Blaine concedes.

By the time that they wake their chaperones, pack the transport, and drive back to the compound, Kurt has managed to brag himself hoarse about the transport ride having had no unpleasant incidents, unlike a certain horse ride—

"Watch it, you," Trent says, pointing. "Don't think that we don't know about you visiting Patrick at the stables for afternoon strolls around the paddock."

Blaine's mouth drops open. "No."

"Yes," Trent says.

Kurt toes the gravel driveway. "Would you look at the time..."

Blaine grins, and draws him into a tight hug. "You never stop surprising me, Kurt Hummel."

Smiling, Kurt asks, "Next time?"

"Would you like to come here? To the house? I'd love to give you a full tour."

"That sounds wonderful," Kurt says. He hugs Trent and David, and then Blaine claims him again, stroking his hair as they hold each other for as long as they can.

"Until next time," Blaine says.

"Until next time."


	5. Chapter 5

Marley is a petite person with a sweet voice. 

The first time that Kurt sees her, she's got her skirts hiked up around her thighs and she's crouched knee and elbow deep in a deconstructed engine block, covered in grease with six mechanics wide-eyed and quaking in front of her as she lectures them on the different merits of two kinds of machinery-grade lubricant.

Kurt is impressed, and they haven't even said hello.

When she's done speaking, she climbs out of the engine, snaps her gloves off, and notices him standing near the door to the shed's office space.

He feels overdressed in the work robe that he'd put on that morning—he's used to pants, and the light weave wrapping feels strange against his skin, but it's breathable and looks good, if he does say so himself.

"Well," she says, sticking out a hand at him. "I was wondering when you'd find your way here."

He shakes her hand. "I should have come sooner. I apologize."

She winks. "Between Luce and Blaine, I'm surprised that you remembered the sheds at all."

"I practically grew up in transport sheds," Kurt says, smiling. "They're difficult to forget."

She offers him a drink, and then gives him a tour of the facilities. 

She has several—there are two large general purpose sheds, one for machinery that run off corn oil, and the other for machinery that runs off of more crude forms of energy. There's a research lab split into a dozen segments that houses experimental tech. There are multiple storage facilities and a junk yard. There are three small transport-specific sheds. There's an office for the architectural sciences. There's an office for the heating and cooling sciences, which also houses most of the domestic tech. There's a building that's used as a training facility. And finally there's her office, off of which there is a room under triple digital lock which contains all of the schematics and engineering research that the compound prizes so dearly.

When Kurt suggests that they go inside that room, she smiles and sits back in her chair.

"I have a lot of respect for your family," she says. "Most of the drawings in there are stamped with your seal. Your dad is the best at what he does, and don't think that I haven't noticed how fresh Hummel designs have been since you grew tall enough to reach the drafting table." He nods, pleased, and is sure that she is about to escort him back there. "But that's not how this is gonna work, Kurt." He stares at her in surprise. "I know that in a few years, you're gonna be my boss," she says, sitting forward, her eyes boring into his. "But that doesn't mean that you don't have to earn it. David already tried to charm his way in here, and I gave him the boot. So this is what we're going to do. You tell me what you see around here. The inefficient methods. The workers who aren't keeping up. The materials that are outdated. And I'll make sure that all of those issues are addressed. I'll tell you upfront: chances are, most of what you're going to tell me? I already know."

"Then why are you asking me to duplicate the effort?"

"Because I'm stretched so thin that I'm lucky I have the time to breathe," she answers. "The Andersons are good people, but even they can't change all six tires when the transport is moving at full speed."

"What do you need to slow the transport down?"

"People," she answers. "I need at least four more mechanics, two more lab techs, a shed manager, and as many reliable laborers as you can give me. I need someone who can do inventory and nothing but inventory between now and the first heavy snow. And I need you to make sure that Blaine is brought up to speed on all of this. He is an amazing leader in training, but he hasn't taken an interest in the work placement program the way that his father has, and it's suffered for that."

Kurt's heart pounds in his chest. He knows that she's right; he's seen it for himself, and he hasn't even had to look, really.

"I will work with you to fix this," he says. "That's a promise."

"Then we're already friends, Kurt Hummel," she says.

Just before he leaves, he glances over her shoulder at the locked room.

"Not even a peek?" he asks, smiling playfully.

"No way," she answers, leading him back outside.

"How is your relationship with Liam, the head mechanic?" Kurt asks, on a whim.

"He can be difficult. He's more fond of machines than human beings. He's also as overworked as I am."

Kurt nods. "I'm going to put everything that we've discussed in writing," he says, as they part ways. "To Blaine and to his father, too, since it relates to work placement. We can't uproot people from their villages this close to Winter, but we can start planning—and maybe there are some actively looking for employment who would be willing to move on short notice."

She stares up at him, her head tilted, her eyes alight with appraisal. "I have to say, I'm more impressed than I thought I would be."

_No wonder Dad likes her_ , Kurt thinks.

"Thank you," he says, shaking her hand. "Can I offer to take you to lunch?"

"I promised the husband that I'd be home some time this week, so I should probably go and finish up in there," she says, pointing to the shed behind them.

Back at home, he goes directly to his writing table and does as he'd promised Marley. It takes all evening to complete a draft of the document that he's satisfied with. The following day, he swaps Kenny his groceries for the letter, and asks the boy to deliver it to Trent for him.

He is sure that a response will come swiftly, but the last thing that he expects is to be summoned to the manor the very next day. Trent delivers the message, and then offers to drive him into town. Trent also rushes to calm him down when he realizes just how nervous Kurt is.

"What did you expect?" Trent asks, swatting his hands away from the collar of the work robe that he is practically diving into, and fixing it for him. "You have Jon's attention." Trent ties off a complicated knot, and tuts at the worry on his face. "Don't worry. You just rattled him. The work placement program is his baby, and you called it ugly."

"That's not what I intended! Not—ugly. Undereducated, maybe? Badly dressed?" 

Trent laughs. "Kurt."

"Have I offended him?"

"No," Trent says. "He's concerned. My dear, you're going to be expected to speak up. That's the nature of the job. Now, come on—let's not keep him waiting."

Despite that reassurance, Kurt worries the whole way there. Trent tries to distract him with conversation, but it's largely a wasted effort; by the time that Jon arrives at the meeting table Kurt has had three cups of tea, his bladder is full, and he's beyond jittery. At least Trent is with him.

Jon comes in alone, looking hurried but not unhappy.

"Kurt, Trent, good morning," he says, taking a piece of bread and a mug of tea from Trent with a nod of thanks. He smiles at Kurt's work robes. "Well, don't you look more the part, hm?"

Kurt immediately feels silly for thinking that this was going to be some kind of a confrontation.

They eat in silence for a few moments. 

When Jon's plate is empty, he laces his hands on the table and says, "I must confess, I don't usually take work placement matters to Anita. She has more on her plate than I do, and that particular program is not in her domain to begin with. But I did consult with her this morning after I read your letter, because—well. I felt a bit out of sorts, actually. I had thought that everything was up to snuff. Blaine has never mentioned a lack or misplacement of personnel on the compound." He pauses. "But when he recently took on an assistant, my curiosity was piqued, and your observations have set it rising again. Anita told me to shelve my insecurities and listen to you, so—let's hear it." For a moment, Kurt is unsure—he'd written everything down, and isn't sure what Jon wants to hear now. "Your letter was very thorough. But I want to hear what you really think, stripped of the careful language. What did you see out there, Kurt? What did Marley share with you?"

Kurt takes a deep breath. "People are overworked, and their jobs are suffering for it. Inventory is shoddy, delayed, often nonexistent. There aren't enough laborers and, in many cases, not enough techs or researchers. Proactive work habits are becoming reactive ones. Cross-training is lacking."

Jon nods. "Your solution?"

"Every manager of master status or higher should have a second who can do their job in entirety for two or more days at a stretch. Possibly even a third, should the second should fall ill. Every industry manager should be asked to submit a reasonable request for personnel that they feel they can no longer do without, and we should recruit in the villages to fill those positions. Begin advertising now, and bring those who are willing to travel on short notice or in cold weather here before the compound shuts down for the season. Even if we can only provide a fraction of what the managers need, it will ease their burden and they will appreciate our efforts. This will boost both production and morale. Don't be afraid to recruit openly—we need people who want to work. The next step would be cross-training; across the board is good, but particularly mobile workers who can placed where we need them, when we need them."

Trent is watching them. Jon is staring at Kurt. Inside, Kurt is shaking.

Jon rolls a napkin between his fingers thoughtfully. "This would require Anita's, the guild masters', and Blaine's approval. You should know that if we decide to go forward with these changes, it will be your name on the documents, and we'll expect you to personally review the results and report back to us. Is that understood?" Kurt nods, and Jon goes on, his voice softer, "I'm pleased by your initiative but be cautious, Kurt. These are peoples' livelihoods that you're influencing." He pauses. "If Gregory continues to prove satisfactory to Blaine, I'll assign him as your administrative contact for this project. It will be his responsibility to interview employee candidates for you and then, once you've made your selections, move them and whoever they wish to bring with them onto the compound."

"Getting ahead of ourselves, there," Trent comments, sipping from his mug. "Not many will be willing to move this time of year. Still, it's a good idea." 

"It is a very good idea," Jon says. He stands, and claps Kurt on the shoulder. "Thank you for rearranging my morning schedule."

Kurt smiles, though he can feel his face turn red. "Thank Marley. She lit the fire."

"That does not surprise me," Jon says, smiling back at him with obvious approval. "She saw in you, at your first meeting, someone who she could both confide in and rely on to assist her. As co-leader, that will indeed be a fine quality to possess. Excellent work, Kurt."

Kurt swallows around the lump in his throat. "Thank you, Jon. Truly." 

Once he and Trent are alone again, Kurt collapses into his chair. "That was nerve-wracking."

"For your first policy change, I think that it went over extremely well."

Kurt stuffs a piece of fruit into his mouth and chews it frantically. "I need the room to stop spinning."

Trent laughs, and reaches over to rub his arm. "Relax."

Trent drives him home without needed to be asked. 

On Kurt's porch, he asks, "Do you have plans for the day?"

"No, thank goodness. I think I'm just going to sit in a warm bath and wind down—and then I'll begin making some notes on this project."

"Good," Trent says. "Don't jump in too quickly, though. You'll regret it once the option to jump out is no longer available to you. Trust me."

Kurt does.

 

*

 

The morning of their next date, Kurt is determined to leave business aside.

He's spent the last couple of weeks fretting endlessly about his suggestion to Blaine's dad, only to have his concerns consistently dismissed by Trent, who tells him that things are going swimmingly with the handful of candidates who they've managed to interest so far. Trent reminds him that if he is going to be a successful co-leader, he must learn when to worry and when to relax—he takes this advice in stride.

Today, all he wants is to feel Blaine's arms around him and just be himself for a few hours.

He dresses comfortably but colorfully, making sure to choose from his new wardrobe—pants that end at mid-calf, a fitted, sleeveless tunic, and open shoes that have the tiniest heel. He takes time styling his hair, and even puts the shiny metal cuffs that he'd been saving for another time around the curves of his ears. 

As usual, just before their reunion occurs, he begins to feel anxious and sweat, even in the cool air-conditioning of his bedroom. He paces circles in front of his standing mirror, his pulse pounding visibly at his throat and his palms already damp.

He thinks, because he can't do anything else to make time go faster.

The moment that he'd laid eyes on Blaine, he had fallen instantly into infatuation. But every day since then he has continued to fall in a more realistic way—with every moment that they spend together and every word that they exchange, they grow closer, more real to one another.

Instead of finding this reassuring and therefore calming, Kurt grows hungrier, more restless, every day.

He can't recall ever wanting something as badly as he wants time with Blaine. He can't recall ever feeling like a better version of himself simply by virtue of being with Blaine. He can't recall being able to imagine a future for himself so clearly as he can when he's with Blaine. 

He knows that Blaine feels the same way about him. But Blaine had grown up in a world where romance—as fleeting as it had to be—was his to have and to hold, whereas Kurt has only just arrived on that world's doorstep.

He forces himself into the transport when this thought spiral refuses to stop twisting downward. 

The drive clears his head, though he still stops in the parking shed to fuss with his hair in the driver's side mirror until it's as close to perfection as it's going to get.

David is off-compound, so it's Trent who greets him in the foyer, kissing both of his cheeks and leading him into the main dining hall.

"Blaine should be down momentarily," Trent says, pouring him a drink. "He changes at least three times before he decides how he wants to look for you, I swear."

Kurt smiles, his cheeks as pink as the juice in his glass. "I dare him to pull more focus than I do."

"I think he takes that as a challenge, actually. Your outfit is stunning; he has his work cut out for him today."

"Why, thank you." They drink in silence, and then he asks, "How is he?"

"Gregory is doing an excellent job; he is much more relaxed than he has been."

"I used to be punctual to a fault before you came along, you know," Blaine says, appearing suddenly behind him.

Before he can even say "good morning" he's being pulled up and out of his chair and into an embrace so tight that he can hardly inhale. He laughs into Blaine's neck, and feels all of the jangling inside of his chest go still.

There's a double seat on the other side of the table, so they sit there, not willing to let go of each other, and Trent is content to sit across from them, grazing a tray of fruit.

"You look rested," he says, savoring the progressive thrill of Blaine's nearness and touch as it moves through his body, strongest at the points where they're pressed together.

"You look gorgeous," Blaine replies, drinking him in. "You are the brightest thing that I have seen in weeks."

Kurt preens under the compliment, his cheeks flushing hot. His face goes even darker when Blaine reaches up to touch the little curls of bright metal that are hooked around his ears. The brush of his fingertips against those already sensitive spots makes Kurt's skin tighten with pleasure.

"These are especially beautiful."

"Thank you. I made them myself."

"Is there anything that you can't do?" he asks, cupping Kurt's jaw in his palm. 

Kurt turns his cheek into Blaine's hand and breathes, "I missed you so much."

"And I you. You do, however, seem to be getting along quite well," Blaine says, leaning in close to press their temples together. "I'm proud of you, you know that?"

There's no doubt in Kurt's mind that he's talking about the work placement program changes.

"Thank you, so much. But if you don't mind—no shop talk today?"

"None at all, I promise."

Kurt loses track of how long they just sit there wedged together, their hands tangled in between them. It is everything that's been missing for the last month—the indescribable comfort of just being Kurt with his Blaine.

When he does open his eyes, he doesn't move. He tilts his gaze upward to take in the curves of the wooden beams that make up the skeleton of the ceiling, gleaming in places and hopelessly smoke-stained in others, and the beautifully tooled glass windows etched yellow around the edges with Anderson roses.

When he finally feels his heartbeat even out he asks, "Show me around?"

He can feel Blaine smile. "With pleasure."

Trent rises to follow them, silently and at a distance. Kurt slides his hand into Blaine's.

"The original structure was comprised of this hall, the foyer, the kitchens, the west wing, and some of the exterior spaces," Blaine explains, as they walk. "It had fallen almost entirely into ruin by the time that my family discovered it. They used the remaining structure as a guide to rebuild it, and as technology improved they were able to add the east wing and the wing that contains many of the manor's public areas—the records rooms, the library, the ballrooms, and so on."

"So this was something, Before the War. People lived here?"

"From what we can tell, people stayed here. It was a retreat of some kind? Possibly related to horses—the stables that you see today were built on what we think may have been stables before. The layout, as well as the artifacts that we've dug up out there, seem to suggest it."

Kurt finds the idea fascinating.

"Developing the land for the construction of the rest of the compound consumed my family for hundreds of years, but not much else was found to confirm what purpose this place served originally." Blaine clears his throat. "So, we just came from the main dining hall. You know that the kitchens are down there. We have underground cellars below that run all the way under the mountain. The gardens are set a short distance away from the back of the house, because we can only have the temperature shielding so close. The small amount of livestock that we are able to keep live just beyond the gardens."

Blaine guides them in a different direction.

"And then there is what we consider 'public' space. The foyer, the meeting halls, and the library. Most of our records rooms are private but there is a public one, as well." 

Blaine leads them into what is obviously the public library. It's large, impressively tidy, and smells like ancient paper and the glaze that's used to preserve it. There are thousands of scroll nooks and paper sleeve shelves, all full to the brim, and a neatly dressed young woman behind a desk by the door.

"Ellen, good morning," Blaine says, and she smiles at them.

"Blaine, Kurt, Trent. Anything I can get you lads?"

"I'm showing Kurt around, but maybe some other time. Thank you."

"Nice to meet you," Kurt says.

Blaine fishes a keyring out of his pocket, and lets them into a smaller, adjacent library. "This is the family library. It's got one of my favorite places in the whole house."

The Anderson family library may be smaller, but it's no less beautiful.

Blaine guides Kurt around a corner. There, on the far wall, is a wide curtain draped across a set of doors. Blaine opens them to reveal an expansive balcony.

"Oh," Kurt breathes in surprise, unprepared for the fresh air and light of day. There are wooden lounges and tables set out on the balcony.

"When I was little, if I behaved, my tutor would take our lessons out here," Blaine says.

Kurt puts a hand on the edge of the doorway. "You've got biomech screening up here. That's so strange; I haven't seen it anywhere else in the house."

"In order to keep the balcony in use we needed to be completely sure that the papers inside wouldn't be exposed to light or moisture or extreme temperatures—not all of them can be glazed—so the little bit of screening that we've managed to trade for has been put to use here. The wealth of our family's history and knowledge lies in this room, so we thought it a good investment."

"I've only seen it in small rolls—the size of your hand, at best. It's incredible that you managed to get your hands on enough to seal a whole entryway like this."

Blaine walks the length of the balcony's rail, and then sits down on one of the lounges. Kurt circles him, glances at Trent, who is perusing a shelf in the library behind them, and then slides his fingers over Blaine's shoulders to rub them. "Lucy's dad was your tutor?"

Blaine nods, relaxing into his touch. "Until I was old enough to attend public school, and then after only for special lessons." He smiles as Kurt's fingers dig into the dense muscle at the back of his neck. "Am I not relaxed enough for your tastes?"

Kurt laughs, and then lowers his voice. "I just want to touch you. Is that alright?"

"That is a question you need never ask me."

"Go on. I'm listening."

"There were so many rooms that I wasn't allowed into when I was little. Getting keys to those rooms as I grew older became sort of a rite of passage." Kurt settles into a rhythm, zoning out pleasantly as he listens. "My parents still have a sitting room that I can't get into."

He laughs, scratching his fingernails through the hair at the nape of Blaine's neck. "Still working on that one?"

"Oh god, no. It's off of their chambers. Who knows what they get up to in there?"

Kurt laughs, and then makes a face. "Forget that I asked."

The eastern side of the house is next.

"This is newer construction, as you can tell by the lumber. The tech is better integrated. That's mainly why we decided to make it the guest wing. It looks and functions better than the rest of the house."

Kurt recalls taking meals here when he first arrived. They walk past the room that he and his father had slept in, and he thinks about how intimidating it had all seemed then compared to now.

By the time that they finish the tour, it's time for supper. Blaine has their meal sent up to his rooms. They eat sitting across from each other, their legs tangled under the small table. 

As the afternoon bleeds into dusk, Trent lights several candles on their table.

"It's so different here than in the villages," Kurt says, looking around the antechamber.

Blaine nods. "The villages are behind in development. It's a funny thing, trying to affect change. Many of the villagers still don't trust us, even when their governors do."

"Dependence will often breed wariness."

"Very true," Blaine says. "All we can do is continue providing."

After their meal, they settle on a couch big enough for only two. Trent turns a blind eye when Kurt sits with his legs draped over Blaine's lap, and his arms wrapped around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine traces the metal cuffs that Kurt is wearing on his ears again, while they discuss Winter preparations.

"Carl will be distraught if you don't let him do something," Blaine says.

Kurt hasn't seen Carl since he assisted with the move to the cabin. He had been perfectly capable; Kurt simply prefers to do things for himself.

"I hate calling on him when I know that he has more important things to do this time of year." 

He keeps growing distracted by Blaine's fingers tracing his ears; their lobes are so sensitive now.

"He'll want to take some responsibility for winterizing your space."

"I'll schedule some time with him, don't worry."

Blaine strokes behind his ear and then below it, and Kurt's cheeks flush hotter. 

They have been so good today. 

Despite all of the warm, sneaky glances and their hands constantly on each other, they haven't acknowledged the escalation. But here they are, comfortable and full with a successful date day creeping behind them, Trent is essentially ignoring them, and Kurt has been aching for hours for—something, anything.

He closes his eyes, exhales, and when he speaks again his tone is one that he only uses when they have achieved some sort of privacy—breathless and eager. "You're being dreadful."

Blaine dares to dart in and press a kiss to the skin below his ear. He inhales sharply.

" _Now_ I'm being dreadful," Blaine says, nuzzling his neck, and then pulling away with a questioning look on his face. Kurt's resolve weakens. He guides Blaine's mouth back against his neck.

"Continue being dreadful," he whispers, his throat bobbing against Blaine's jaw.

Blaine's mouth blazes a slow path from behind his ear to the apex of his neck and shoulder.

"Oh," he whimpers, his fingers twisting in Blaine's hair.

Blaine draws him close by the small of his back, and says in between kisses, "Sometimes, all it takes is the memory of the way that you taste—"

Trent shifts around loudly.

Kurt groans. They don't separate, but they do stop.

"If I had stayed silent, we might have managed to avoid detection," Blaine says, afterward.

"We might have."

There is a pause, and then Blaine asks, "What are your thoughts on that part of the courtship?"

"Which part?"

"The part that states we must not be intimate until we're married. If we could sneak—if our chaperones turned the other way—would you want us to take full advantage of the opportunity?"

Kurt thinks about the question seriously. 

When he isn't firing on all professional cylinders, being intimate with Blaine is all that he can think about, despite the fact that he has no idea what "intimacy" even entails. He isn't stupid—he has made the connection between what he sometimes does with Blaine and the way that his body reacts to it—but he also isn't educated enough to understand it or know where it's going, either. He knows that such an education won't be offered to him until they are married and so, when he answers, his tone evinces as much frustration as it does resignation.

"We'll only ever get moments like this until we're married," he says, stroking the wispy curls that are standing up around Blaine's ear. "Blaine, I don't want _moments_. I want—I want you to teach me everything, and I want to—to do everything."

Blaine's eyes sparkle in the candlelight, round and full of warmth. "Being near you, I just—"

Kurt smiles crookedly. "Trust me. I know."

Cooling off becomes a necessity, then. 

They untangle themselves by degrees, until they're recovered enough to stand, and then Blaine leads Kurt through the house in nighttime, past small throngs of relatives and friends of family and staff, introducing him. 

The kitchens are shutting down for the night, but they go there for one last drink, and Kurt spends some time chatting with the staff about Blaine's childhood antics.

When there's nothing of note left to see in the house and no one about to introduce Kurt to, they take a stroll through the front gardens, hands laced, with Trent trailing behind them. The evening is cool. Kurt breathes in the sharp mountain air, swinging their clasped hands between them and thinking about how very lucky he is.

Finally, the question can no longer be avoided.

"Next time?" he asks, and feels Blaine's hand tighten around his. 

"Shall I come to you? I'm afraid that as the weather grows colder, our options grow fewer."

Kurt stops them on the gravel path, reaching out to touch the spiky leaves of a hedge beside them, and then sliding his arms around Blaine's shoulders to draw him in closer. "Give me a couple."

Blaine bites his lip in thought, and then says, "Oh! Why didn't I think of it before? Every year around this time, we have a celebration in the house, called the Apple Festival. The theme is obvious enough. It's an excuse for everyone to gather and have a little fun before the snows come. I'm sure you'd enjoy it."

Kurt smiles. "Will you be my date to the Apple Festival, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine laughs. "With pleasure, Kurt Hummel." He smiles in obvious pleasure, and then adds, "There's something we could do at the festival. Something specific, I mean."

"Oh?"

"Well, since there will be a dance instructor at the festival, we could—there's this particular dance," Blaine says, drawing his fingers up Kurt's back.

Kurt's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yes. It's—well. The partner who leads begins with a feather in their right hand. And—the dance is a game, wherein the couple passes the feather back and forth between them. From hand to hand, and—teeth to teeth."

Kurt can't help but grin at that. "Are you very good at it?"

"Actually, yes!" 

"Well, now we must. I'm intrigued," Kurt says, smiling.

Behind them, Trent is walking closer, and Kurt knows that their time is up. 

"Until next time?" he asks, carding his fingers through Blaine's hair. 

"Until next time," Blaine answers, holding onto him until the last possible second.

 

*

 

This year, Blaine and his mother pair up for the pre-Winter circuit, a round of visits that they make to accomplish a variety of things: verifying supply levels, touching base with their liaisons from other provinces to get a general feel for how nonexistent communication and trade will be when the roads are not navigable, checking in with the village governors, and generally doing whatever needs to be done to ensure that when the weather ties their hands, they've done all that they can to prepare for the longest, darkest, coldest months.

These efforts are well under way by the end of October, and though Blaine finds the travel and long days wearying, he can't complain—he loves his mother and enjoys working with her.

Their meeting with the Crawfords—the ruling family of the province that provides them with the food and livestock that feeds most of Westerville (this province, which is called Essex, had been covered in temperature shielding and soil converters Before the War)—goes oddly, and they take supper on the road after, stopping sooner than they usually would to discuss it.

Blaine is worried about getting back in time for the Apple Festival and his date with Kurt. At the moment, however, he's more concerned about why their meeting with the Crawfords had been so awkward.

"I've known Walter Crawford all my life," his mother says, ripping a loaf of bread in half, "and I have never seen him as tense as he was today."

"He persisted in asking after several of our industry managers who he has never shown an interest in before," Blaine says. "Marley, in particular."

His mother jabs the air with a finger. "Precisely. When has Walter ever attempted to go below me in rank for discussions of technology? It makes no sense. Marley wouldn't know a treaty from a school primer. She's a brilliant engineer, but she's no negotiator."

"Perhaps the shifting of power from you and father to Kurt and I unsettles him. Marley, at least, he knows of—"

"That could be it," she concedes, chewing. "It just doesn't sit well with me. Out of all the province leaders, Walter is the one that we've never had issue with. The industrialists don't trust our tech, and the Sea Traders think that they deserve a larger share of what we have because they control our world's access to the ocean. Essex has been nothing but a farming and livestock juggernaut from day one, completely reliant on machinery and shielding, and Walter knows how closely that links us, how important we are to one another. Why would he treat your reign any differently than he has treated mine?"

"We can't keep him from professional contact with our managers. It would be an insult."

"The real question is: why are we both worried about him having contact with our managers?"

Blaine sighs. "I think that the season change is making us paranoid, Mother."

"Well," she huffs, at a loss, "we have all Winter to think about it, I suppose."

When they hunker down inside of a stop-over cabin that's hardly big enough to hold them and their gear, she asks, "Did you invite Kurt to the Apple Festival?"

Blaine's heart begins to beat faster just at the mention of Kurt. "Yes. Though it's a shame that he'll have to pick which day he attends."

"So let him stay overnight," she says, waving a hand. "He should enjoy both days."

"Two days in a row? We can do that?" Excitement simmers low in his belly at the idea.

"The courtship rules may be bent now and again for the purpose of cultural education," she says, very seriously—he's sure that she's quoting the courtship guidelines themselves—and then laughs at his silence. "I'm joking, son. Of course you may invite Kurt to enjoy the festival in its entirety." He listens to her breathe over the noise of the space heater that's working in between them, its heating coil glowing a fiery orange in the darkness. "I know that we have been hands-off since you and Kurt began dating. Your father and I don't want you to think that we've lost interest. It's simply that the courtship is yours and Kurt's privilege. As long as you are both content, it is not ours to manage."

"I don't think that 'content' quite covers it," he says. "He takes me apart and puts me back together every time that I see him."

He can hear the smile in her voice when she replies, "I hope that you're sharing that poetry with him, too."

Blaine smiles. "I try to."

"He's so young," she says, after a pause, sounding almost wistful.

"We usually only joke about that, but there are moments when—when I can see how new all of this is for him. When I can see his hesitation, his inexperience, his idealism. But he never tries to hide those things from me. He's honest, even when he's stumbling."

"He wouldn't make it very far as co-leader otherwise."

"He's going to be incredible, Mother. I'm already sure of it."


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt is at the manor for half a day by the time that Blaine and his mother make it home for the festival.

They'd sent word ahead that a blocked road would delay their return, so he's been keeping himself busy. At the moment he's being tailed by half of the manor's children in a strange game of tag that involves little apple-shaped sticky-backed papers, the rules of which he doesn't quite understand but seem to involve children planting the papers on him wherever they can reach, shouting "you're it!", and then disappearing instantly. He grows tired of the chase and decides to go on the offensive, pouncing a gaggle of children in the foyer, armed with dozens of the paper apples. He labels them one by one, and then declares loudly, "No, you're it!"

Which is, of course, the exact moment when Blaine and his mother walk through the doors. Several of the children scream "Blaine!" and abandon Kurt on the spot.

Two remain, clinging to Kurt's apple red tunic—one has a sticker over his left eye, and the other has four stickers in her hair. She looks at Kurt and says, "Don't worry. We think you're prettier, Kurt."

Kurt puffs up before he reminds himself that he should probably not encourage them. "Thank you!"

"Is that my Kurt under these naughty children?" Blaine asks, his hands on his hips.

"He said he wanted to play, he _said_!" one of the boys insists, hopping up and down.

Blaine's mother sends the children scurrying. "Get back to your minders; I know you aren't supposed to be in the foyer right now, you little hellions." After they're gone, she smiles. "I hope you enjoy the festival, Kurt."

"Thank you," Kurt says as he stands, brushing his clothing off. As soon as he's steady, he launches himself into Blaine's cold-as-the-outside arms. "Everything alright?"

"Everything is done," Blaine replies, tracing Kurt's back with his hands. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

At that, David descends the staircase behind them, gives them both a wave and then settles in to hover.

The manor is decorated rather festively indeed in apple motifs—paper cut outs, glass balls, wood carvings, twisted pine boughs, and metal carvings, all shaped and painted to look like apples. The whole house smells like apples and spices, and there is food—some apple-based, some not—in almost every room. There's dancing and music and games and arts and crafts, and Kurt has been lost in it all day.

"I have had pudding, and sauce, and pie, and tarts, and guess what was in all of them?" he asks, bouncing as he loops his arms around Blaine's shoulders and rubs their nose tips together. He's a little buzzed off of all of the festivity, and he is fairly sure that several of the ciders he'd been given earlier had been alcoholic.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Blaine answers, visibly alight with Kurt's happiness as he presses their foreheads together. "I'm just so glad that you'll be here tomorrow, as well."

They walk into one of the side rooms, and Blaine says, "This is horribly ill-mannered of me, but we decided to travel instead of eat today, and I'm famished."

"Oh, please, go ahead."

They sit together at the table, Blaine responding to hellos even as he fills his plate and begins eating.

"I hope that you weren't forced into minding the children all day," he says, in between bites.

"No, not at all. They're just curious about me."

Blaine smiles at him. "What have you been up to since I've been away?"

"Carl and I took care of the cabin. I had him take my transport back down to the sheds—it'll be impossible to use once the snow starts. As much as I wish it were otherwise, I need a horse. So we put up a stable, and he brought me Patrick."

"Oh, Kurt. I'm so glad," Blaine answers, tangling his free hand in Kurt's. "Are you comfortable with Patrick now?"

"We're tentative acquaintances," Kurt says, smiling and shaking his head. "We'll be just fine." He steals a piece of bread off of Blaine's plate. "I built Sam a dog house on the back porch—he's been sleeping on the rug in my bedroom ever since. I think a family of squirrels is making good use of the dog house, though."

Blaine laughs. "That's good. Wouldn't want him out in the cold. And it's dangerous out there for him now that he's so domesticated."

"True."

"I'm glad that you're not alone in the cabin," Blaine says.

"I had them install washing and drying machines so that no one will need to come for my laundry, and Kenny's delivery service will be done by Carl twice a month instead of four times once the weather gets worse. All in all, I'm set."

"What about Lucy's lessons?" Blaine asks.

"Tutoring suspended until the thaw, apparently. She's leaving me with dozens of assignments."

"That's good," Blaine says. "I was worried about her trying to brute force her way through a blizzard."

After that, there's a moment of silence, filled only by Blaine's chewing, the noise of the people around them, and the music playing in more distant rooms. Kurt holds Blaine's free hand, smiling at his stuffed cheeks and damp-mused hair. He's still wearing his riding cloak, and the hem of the garments beneath it are dark from icy rain.

"I've met much of your extended family today," he says, filling a mug with water for himself. "They're very nice people, many of whom seem to have inexplicably positive impressions of me."

"Blame yourself for that," Blaine says, squeezing Kurt's hand.

Kurt grins. "Gladly. I love this place," he says, all at once. "I had no idea that I would. But I do, so much."

Blaine stops, wipes his mouth on a napkin and smiles, his head tilted. "It means so much to me to hear you say that." He grins mischievously. "Unless that's the hard cider talking."

Kurt giggles, burying his face in Blaine's shoulder. "Not sure. That was hours ago. And I had no idea that it was alcoholic cider!"

After Blaine has had a chance to finish eating and freshen up—he comes back down to the party dressed in a pair of pants that are tight enough to turn Kurt's head right around—they travel from room to room, sampling wares and tasting desserts. Kurt has an apple painted on his cheek, and Blaine on his neck. They're engaged in conversation every now and then by Blaine's family, but for the most part are left alone to enjoy themselves.

They find the live music.

Kurt, who has had another cup of cider, is relaxed enough to breathe in Blaine's ear, "Dance with me."

"Whenever you wish," Blaine replies, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist and leading them out onto the wooden dance floor. The music is comprised mostly of string instruments and a soft singing voice—the perfect rhythm to sway to. Kurt tucks his cheek against Blaine's hair, wraps his arms around Blaine's shoulders, and lets himself be carried away. "I'm sorry that we lost so many hours. Do you have a room picked out for the night?"

"Yes. David joked about sleeping next to me, just to make sure that I don't go 'wandering'."

Blaine laughs, curling his fingers against the small of Kurt's back. "I'd like to see him claim that spot before I do."

"He may have been drunk."

"He'll have to be very drunk indeed to attempt that."

They laugh at the notion but, after a pause, Kurt puts his lips against Blaine's ear and adds in a rough, slightly inebriated tone, "There's only one man I want in my bed."

Blaine's throat spasms with noise against his jaw.

Kurt feels far too loose-lipped at the moment; strange and light-headed and almost too relaxed. He wants to say things that he knows he'd never say otherwise, so he bites his lip and says nothing further.

They dance through several songs, and at a certain point Kurt realizes that Blaine's eyelids are dipping, and that he's gone sort of heavy in Kurt's arms. Kurt remembers that Blaine had been traveling nonstop all day and has been entertaining him nonstop all evening—he should be in bed, not dancing.

Kurt nuzzles into his hair. "Blaine? You're dancing and sleeping at the same time."

He jerks upright. "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

"No. I am. I should have encouraged you to go to bed hours ago."

Trent, who Kurt hasn't seen all night, finds them, and convinces Blaine to go get some rest while Kurt mingles.

"I'll be fine," Kurt says. "Sleep."

Blaine's fingers trail across his cheek. "At least I can say that I'll see you in the morning, this time."

 

*

 

The second day of the Apple Festival is more for the adults of the house.

Each guild has representatives spread throughout the manor at tables or vendor stands, ready to talk about what they do, share samples, sell wares, and mingle. There are also organized events of a slightly more mature nature—plays and musical performances and poetry readings.

Kurt is so glad that he's getting to experience both days. 

He would be even more excited about this if he hadn't woken up suffering the consequences of allowing Blaine's family to get him completely drunk the night before. All he recalls now is dancing and singing and his mouth going gradually numb, and Trent joking that they had figured it would be a foolproof way to get him to loosen up and also to ensure that even if he tried, he'd never in a million years locate Blaine's room.

They'd been right.

He spends the first hour after he wakes up neck-deep in a hot bath, and the second hour sipping weak tea and choking on dry toast just to settle his stomach. He hadn't thrown up and has no desire to now, but his head feels like a pulsing bruise and his vision keeps tilting, depending on how fast he swings his head around. 

By the time that Trent knocks on his door to ask him if he wants to come downstairs now or later, he's at least fifty percent human again. He takes his time traveling downstairs, enjoying the manor's wide halls and high ceilings around him. The house still smells like apple pie, though less so. He can hear the distant twang of an instrument and subdued morning laughter. He can't imagine joining anyone for a full breakfast yet—his stomach is roiling as it is at the smell of apple—so he chats with Trent and completes a loop of the house instead, sticking his head into rooms that have been temporarily converted for public use as the various guilds set up their tables.

"It's an excuse to meet up and share information before the weather closes everything down, really," Trent says. "Well. That and the drinking."

Kurt smiles sarcastically. "I'm so glad that you got me into the spirit of things."

Trent claps his shoulder. "You survived."

He rolls his eyes in friendly way, and then comments, "The festival is a good idea. A happy memory to recall when the snows come." He stops at a table, lifting a wooden toy to inspect its smooth curves.

They don't make it very far along before Blaine joins them downstairs, looking a thousand times more rested than the day before, and rather handsome in a dark sweater shot through with yellow fibers.

"Mm, good morning," Kurt hums appreciatively, smoothing his hands over Blaine's shoulders as they hug.

"It is indeed," Blaine murmurs, kissing his cheek. "God, it's wonderful seeing you two days in a row."

Kurt tucks himself in closer and breathes out against Blaine's jaw, "The feeling is mutual."

"Are you still interested in dancing lessons?" 

He smiles self-deprecatingly. "Give me a few hours more to recover?"

Trent mimes a drinking motion. Blaine laughs. "I see. You do look a little green."

"Apparently the no alcohol rule only applies when I'm not in this house."

"Rule bending _was_ my last decree," Blaine says, tucking his arm through Kurt's.

"We don't have decrees," Trent stage-whispers behind them, and Kurt laughs.

"Since we're angling for time, then—how do you feel about joining my parents? They're hosting breakfast as a part of the festival." At Kurt's blank stare, he adds, "You don't have to eat, silly. We'll just sit with them."

"In that case..."

Standing there at the threshold of the dining hall, Kurt feels a wave of something sweep through him, and he isn't sure whether it's the leftovers of indulgence or something else—the hall is full of people, the table packed, and at the head of it Blaine's parents sit in rustic splendor, dressed no more formally than anyone else but somehow drawing focus anyway. Kurt blinks, and for a moment he sees himself and Blaine there, older, and potentially wiser, and he tightens his fingers around the crook of Blaine's elbow and draws them to a stop.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, concerned.

"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "Still feeling a little sick."

"Let's sit, then," Blaine says, and draws two chairs up beside his parents for them.

"Up and about, I see," Blaine's mother says. "Impressive."

Kurt has the grace to blush, but he also finds it funny. "I come from hearty stock."

"He did say that last night, didn't he?" Blaine's father asks.

"After his twelfth or so cup of ale," Blaine's mother confirms. They share a look.

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

"I see that we will not be setting aside this topic any time soon," Kurt murmurs dryly.

"Oh, no, we absolutely will—all of your drunken remarks regarding my son will be retained as blackmail material for _future_ use," Blaine's father says, grinning.

Kurt narrows his eyes playfully at Blaine. "I begin to discover where your various traits come from."

At that, all four of them dissolve into laughter, and Kurt feels the fluttering in his belly ease. He still can't imagine eating, but Blaine convinces him to swallow a few bites of bread anyway, and that does make him feel better. 

Kurt watches with interest as Blaine's mother rings the little bell that cues the course changes.

"Is Harry available yet?" Blaine asks her.

"I think he'll be free shortly, if you're looking to engage his official services."

"I thought he might teach Kurt the Prancing of the Lark," Blaine says.

Blaine's mother's face brightens. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea." 

"When I think of that dance, I can only remember the one time when I nearly swallowed the feather," Blaine's father says, looking sheepish. His mother laughs and Kurt stares at Blaine.

"I may start drinking again if this is what I have to look forward to today," he says.

Blaine grins. "You'll be fine." He wipes his fingers on a napkin, and then adds, "If you'd like to see the theater group perform, they're probably getting ready to start."

"Definitely," Kurt says, and they stand.

"Enjoy," Blaine's parents call.

The play that they catch is a familiar story about a group of brave City Traders who recover some highly valuable tech from a ruined building at the risk their lives—it's one that they've grown up with and Kurt has always been fond of, as it is a morality tale about teamwork and perseverance and not just a romance or a hero's story. The ages of the performers range all over the place, and their set pieces and performances are surprisingly good. 

Kurt and Blaine sit in the third row holding hands, laughing and frowning at all the right places, especially at the end when the party in the story loses one of its members and the scenes turn somber for a time. Several of Blaine's cousins are in the play, and after the curtain falls they stay to chat with them for a while. Kurt draws the conversation out; he's a little nervous about the dancing lesson that he knows is to follow.

The dance instructor, Harry, is a tall, slender, dark-haired man who indeed looks as if he's spent his life honing his body for dance. He's rather good looking, actually, and Kurt is about to comment jokingly about just that when Blaine clears his throat and pulls him aside at the door.

"You should know that Harry is one of my, ah, ex-lovers."

Kurt blinks rapidly, and his heart beats a strange tattoo against the inside of his chest. "Oh, really?"

"I haven't seen him in some time. I didn't want you to be concerned if his initial behavior—"

"Oh," Kurt breathes. "Well. He's aware of our courtship. I'm sure he'll be perfectly professional." 

Of course, Kurt can't help but feel the opposite of what he's saying, on some level—and he knows that his face is tensing up and his expression cooling off because of this information. It's not that he doesn't trust Blaine, or that he is upset about Blaine's romantic past; it's that he's never been in this situation before, and he feels out of his depth. It's confusing. Blaine is his, technically, yes, but this man has had Blaine in ways that he never has.

Blaine stares at him, lips tightly pursed. "I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry."

"I don't expect you to give me a tour of your love life as you gave me a tour of your house," Kurt says, and means it, despite the jealous ache in his belly.

"I know that," Blaine says, though he looks guilty.

Kurt is determined to be smart about the meeting. He smiles through the introduction, makes eye contact, firmly shakes Harry's hand, and doesn't allow his expression to change even when Harry kisses Blaine's cheeks and hugs him for a moment longer than is strictly necessary.

It's childish of him, he knows, but as he stands there watching them catch up he feels that he has a whole new reason to learn this dance perfectly today.

"It's such a pleasure," Harry says, "to finally meet you, Kurt. You've been a topic of conversation around here for so long that it feels almost like meeting a character out of a story."

Kurt maintains his smile stiffly. "It must be such a relief to see how real I actually am."

Blaine clears his throat and laughs nervously. "I, ah, I thought we might teach Kurt the lark dance."

Harry's eyes go wide. "Oh, what an excellent idea. Shall we run through it first, to show him what it looks like?"

Blaine begins to say something dismissive, but Kurt interrupts. "Oh, please do."

Harry raises a hand to cue the music, his eyes only leaving Kurt's when Blaine steps out onto the floor.

The dance begins with the couple cheek to cheek, chest to chest, and hip to hip, the leading partner with a medium-sized feather that has been dyed a deep shade of red clasped between their teeth. The couple stands with their hands together, finger to palm, at their sides, and then breaks off from there with fluid, sensual motions, the feather going from the leading partner's mouth to the following partner's, then from right hand to left hand, left hand to right hand, as the couple parts and comes back together, hips brushing, bodies swaying in time. There are several dips and spins and a fair bit of independent movement, which make the feather exchange trickier. By the end of the dance, the feather is spit-soaked and Blaine is panting.

Kurt can't tear his eyes away—but at the same time, his gut twists unpleasantly at seeing how comfortable Harry is with flirting with Blaine right in front of him. 

As he exits the floor, his cheeks flushed red, Blaine makes a joke about the dance requiring muscles that he hasn't exercised in a long while.

"I'd imagine not," Harry says, smirking, with the briefest glance at Kurt, and Kurt's pulse spikes nastily. Blaine misses the look while he pats his face dry with a handkerchief.

Kurt strips off the scarf that he has looped around his neck and smiles, his back going ramrod straight and his chin up. "Do you need a break?" he asks Blaine briskly. "I think I've got the beginning." He has no such thing, but once the music starts and Blaine begins to lead, he thinks that he'll be able to mimic sufficiently.

Blaine grins and nods, taking Kurt's hand and drawing him out onto the middle of the floor.

Harry passes them a new feather. Everyone idly circling the room stops and stares, to varying degrees of subtly.

Blaine lines them up, chest to belly to hip. His cheek is smooth against Kurt's as he takes the feather between his teeth. The corner of their mouths brush as Kurt murmurs, "Got you worked up, did he?"

Blaine groans, embarrassed. "Kurt—"

The music starts.

The moment that they start moving together, all thoughts of Harry flee Kurt's mind. 

Blaine's hands find his hands, his hips, his back, as they shift to the rhythm of the music, the feather a tricky little pause in the flow at every turn. It's not so much about perfect execution as it is about letting their bodies communicate without words—letting Blaine's palm curl over his hip bone as if it were made to fit there, letting his back melt over Blaine's forearm like fine silk over a drapery rod, letting the magnetic pull that's always there between them snap them back together after a separation, letting himself feel Blaine's breath on his face as if it were an extension of his own breathing.

The third time that they pass the feather between their teeth, Blaine exhales along his jaw, and presses their temples together with both of his hands wrapped around Kurt's tiny waist.

"You've done this before," he gasps, so that only Kurt can hear him.

The next time that they are close, Kurt's hand at the back of his neck, Kurt replies, "Not once."

He speaks again, with his fingers around Kurt's bicep and the feather in Kurt's left hand, "You must have."

Kurt allows himself to be spun, his back to Blaine's chest, and then spun again in the opposite direction, pulled back in, flattening their heaving bellies together, a step to the left and Blaine's thigh between his. 

He hisses out, "Never, I swear."

The feather in Blaine's left hand and Blaine's right hand searching up Kurt's spine, a pressure between his shoulder blades turning Kurt out a quarter of the way from the clasp of their bodies, then back in, Kurt's knee between his. He smiles into Blaine's shoulder, cheeky enough in that moment to gently grind their hips together.

"Kurt," Blaine gasps.

Kurt dares to press his mouth into Blaine's neck, and thrusts forward again. "You're falling behind."

Blaine tugs them back on course, rasping, "You're cheating." 

"Your definition of 'cheating' intrigues me."

By the time that they stumble off of the dance floor, they're both disheveled and clinging to each other.

Trent has the presence of mind to make their excuses to Harry and lead them out into the hallway. Kurt looks over his shoulder in time to see Harry's gobsmacked expression.

Trent whisper-shouts, "For god's sake, pull yourselves together!"

They are both visibly compromised—Blaine is half-limping in an attempt to hide it, and Kurt tries to angle his body away from Trent, at least. He is too aroused to be embarrassed, though, and too distracted by Blaine's olive-toned skin shining with sweat beneath his tight clothes—which are pulling over his back and buttocks so well that Kurt can't look at anything else—to care if Trent notices that he's swollen at the front of his pants.

And then he realizes that he still has the feather in his hand. 

Blaine stops them at the end of an empty hallway, gives Trent a look, and Trent rolls his eyes and gives them his back. Kurt stares in shock, but recovers as soon as he realizes that there is probably a time limit involved.

He lifts the feather and tickles the tip of it down the side of Blaine's neck. "He practically challenged me," he says, dragging the feather through the sweat on Blaine's neck as Blaine stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed. "What did you expect me to do?"

Blaine's Adam's apple bobs. He looks feral for the blink of an eye and then, before Kurt can prepare himself for it, he's being grasped by his hips and pressed against the wall behind him.

"He could have dropped to his knees and offered to service me then and there and I'd still have reacted more to a mere glance from you," Blaine rasps.

Kurt has no idea what that means, but he likes it. 

"I'll take that as a compliment," he answers.

His eyes roll back in his head when Blaine kisses his neck. Blaine's fingers graze the dip of his back, haul him closer as he closes his lips around a patch of Kurt's skin, just above the collar of his shirt, and sucks, hard and fast and wet. It hurts. It feels amazing. 

Kurt holds his breath, or tries to, but it rushes out on a broken, high-pitched, " _Blaine_ ," when he loses control of it.

Blaine pants, shudders, against him. "Damn. Damn damn damn."

Trent growls, "Don't push it. I will find your parents if I have to."

They separate so quickly that it almost hurts. Kurt can't walk straight, he is that far gone, and Trent actually gets in between them to prevent them from latching on to each other again.

"Go get rid of that," he barks at Blaine.

"I'll meet you at supper," Blaine says breathlessly, squeezing Kurt's hand before he disappears.

"Well now look at you," Trent grumbles at Kurt. "Come on. I have something that we can use to cover it."

Kurt wants to ask "Cover what?", but he just follows Trent upstairs. 

He squints curiously at the little pot of flesh-colored cosmetic that Trent thrusts into his hand. It's only when he's pushed in front of a mirror that he realizes what Trent wants him to do. There is a huge, purple-red bruise sucked into the skin above his collarbone in the shape of Blaine's mouth.

_Oh._

His hands shaking, Kurt paints over the mark until it's faded.

"Do as I told him, and remember: supper is in half an hour," Trent says.

He has no idea what Trent wants him to do, but he supposes that it will take every one of those thirty minutes for his—interest to die down, so he sits on the bed and settles in to wait. 

Of course, it's not that simple—the remaining pockets of warmth in his body keep spawning new ones, and he can't stop feeling the buzz of the mark on his throat, or remembering the way that it had felt to receive it, Blaine's mouth on his skin, pulling and pulling and pulling. He groans, clamps his thighs around the swollen ache that won't go down, and tries to take his mind off of it. Finally, he does what he has in the past when this has happened; he wraps his hand around himself and pinches, grips the base of it until the throbbing is uncomfortable instead of compelling, and then lets it go—and slowly, slowly, it begins to shrink.

At supper, they keep things innocent, hold hands under the table and make light conversation. The festival is coming to an end, and Kurt is happy to discover that there isn't a single apple in the meal tonight—Blaine tells him that this is very much intentional.

"Shall we discuss next time?" he asks.

"Shall we discuss how uncomfortable Harry made you?" Blaine counters.

Kurt sighs. "I could have approached that more maturely."

"His behavior was inappropriate, not yours," Blaine replies, squeezing their hands together on Kurt's thigh. He waits for a rise in the volume of the conversation around them, and then tips his mouth against Kurt's ear. "I can't say that I minded your reaction."

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt whispers, right back into his ear, "do you like it when I'm possessive?"

"We may have to try it again to be sure," he replies, his lips brushing Kurt's earlobe.

Groaning, flushed, Kurt says, "We should discuss next time. We really should."

Blaine's hand flattens and slides down the meat of his thigh. "I'm yours. You know that, right? You know that I would never let anyone else—"

Kurt's chest hitches unevenly, blood pooling in his groin as Blaine's hand strokes his leg. He thinks that Blaine isn't the only one with a bit of a liking for possessiveness, because the condition that Kurt had found himself in earlier is returning ten times as quickly here and now simply at the mention of it.

Trent leans over and pinches Blaine's arm. "Leave him be, you crazed animal."

Blaine growls. "There are many ways to neatly dispose of a body in the deep of Winter, you know."

Kurt giggles. "Next time. Come on. Focus, Blaine. We aren't murdering Trent. We like Trent."

Blaine sighs, but he's smiling. "By then, we'll be snowed in. Whether we stay at your cabin or the house, we won't be able to do much but hunker down and keep warm. I'd like to come keep you company, if that's alright, since you came here this time. But we'll have to play it by ear. From now until the thaw, everything will be subject to change, I'm afraid."

Their goodbye later that night begins in a woefully public way—various members of Blaine's family seem to want to bid Kurt very long, complicated farewells, and there is no shortage of drinking jokes. He wishes that they had more privacy, but he has to admit that it is nice to know that he'll be missed by everyone in the house. 

Finally, it's just Blaine, David, and himself shivering in the cold. There's a flurry coming down around them. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself, staring at Blaine, whose curls and eyelashes are dotted with flakes.

"I had so much fun these past two days," he says, taking Blaine's hands. "Thank you."

Blaine suddenly looks sad. "Please heed the instructions that you've been given. I—" He shudders, and presses his face into Kurt's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't act like this before we say goodbye."

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist.

"I'm so used to losing people when the weather turns nasty. But I've never had—I—I am—terrified of something happening to you out there."

"Oh," Kurt breathes. "Oh, Blaine. No. I'll be the very definition of caution. I promise. I have Patrick and Sam to keep me company and act as guards. I've seen to every domestic necessity. I know that I can't go roaming. Nothing is going to happen to me. Don't torture yourself worrying. You already have so much on your plate."

"Promise me that if anything is amiss—if you feel even a draft or sneeze one too many times—you'll contact David immediately."

"I promise," he says, holding on tighter.

"We should get going," David says.

"Go," Blaine says, snuffling and trying to hide the glaze that's risen over his eyes. "Be careful."

Kurt holds onto Blaine's fingers until he has to let go, and even then he stands there frozen, wrapping his arms around his torso and feeling as if his throat has closed up permanently. Blaine's worry is seeping into him, filling him up with dread, and he doesn't want to leave.

He doesn't want to be apart from Blaine for another month. He doesn't want to be alone in his cabin.

All at once, his eyes go wet, and he bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Before he can consider how silly it is, he launches himself back into Blaine's arms, shivering in relief at the connection as Blaine's head tucks beneath his chin. Blaine whimpers, and then holds him tightly.

"Please stay safe," he whispers fiercely, burying his hands in Blaine's cloak.

"I will," Blaine says.

The second time that they let go is no easier than the first, but this time Kurt forces himself to walk away. He doesn't want Blaine to see the tears on his face.

Back at the cabin, David double-checks everything for him. There is no more that they can do to prepare.

David offers, somewhat awkwardly, to stay for a cup of tea. His company is better than none, but he doesn't quite have the way with words that Trent has, and Kurt doesn't feel the need to ask him to stay longer when he says that he wants to get back to his own cabin.

The last thing that Kurt must do before he goes to sleep is finish his last letter of the season to his dad. Once the snows begin, mail delivery will be spotty or halted altogether, and he's been meaning to do this for days now. 

His dad's last letter had spoken of good things—their village is as ready as it has ever been for Winter, no one has fallen ill yet, and the plans for his and Carole's wedding are coming along nicely. Finn has proven more than competent, has taken over the sheds three days out of the week, allowing Burt to relax for the first time in his life. 

Kurt makes sure to write at least twice as much as he usually does, and also takes the time to pen individual notes to Finn and Carole. He reminds his father to take care of himself, and lingers over declarations of love and care in a way that is not his typical style. He's feeling nervous about his first Winter away from his childhood home. He knows that he won't receive a response to this letter until after the thaw, most likely, and the thought unsettles him even further.

He sleeps fitfully that night, and dreams of Blaine, and apples, and dancing.

 

*

 

The snow comes, and comes hard.

Kurt knows from the very first storm that this Winter is going to be worse than the last. He grows frantic with worry, but then the days begin to bleed together, and he realizes that if all he does is worry, he isn't going to make it to his and Blaine's next date, much less to the thaw. So he sets himself a schedule—wake up, eat, see to Patrick and Sam, get both his and their (if possible) muscles stretched, schoolwork, review reports on the work placement program, supper, some kind of mental recreation, Patrick and Sam again, and then a respectable bath and bedtime routine.

As the weeks pass, though, he grows bored and listless. He tries to vary his days. He begins a journal, but finds it impossible to maintain. He tries to get Patrick out for a ride around the backyard, but the snow is deep and neither of their hearts are in it. Sam is a permanent fixture on his bedroom rug, right in front of the fireplace, always trying to cheer him up.

But in the end it's just wind and snow and ice and cabin fever, and he begins to lose the will to do even simple things. He lounges around in tunics and slippers, seeing little point in dirtying his fine clothes. He grows a beard which is so scraggly and ridiculous looking that after two weeks he shaves it off in disgust.

He ends up doing a lot of thinking, which is both good and bad, depending on his mood.

The good are a variety of professional queries and ideas that relate to being co-leader, many of which he can't wait to discuss with the Andersons. 

The bad boils down to hours of juvenile pining for Blaine. He writes dozens of embarrassing love letters, which he lets Sam use for toys before burning the soggy shreds. He also goes through jogs of wanting his dad so badly that it hurts—the Winter makes him think of being at home with his parents during the worst storms, and he aches with the kind of physical loneliness that only a parents' touch can dispel. 

After that, he flounders from idea to idea—he writes a play, and then begins writing songs to turn it into a musical. He reads some of his mom's papers. He designs a mechanical dog with a moving tail and a tongue that wags. He drinks far too much tea, and even begins experimenting with blends, tying up little satchels of them until his fingertips harden. He presses flowers into books. He obsesses over the tiny yield of edibles from his garden, and then decides to pickle some of them.

The first time that Carl comes to make a delivery, snow-crusted and panting, he begs the man to stay for at least a few hours. He plies Carl with hot drinks and the promise of a home-cooked meal, even though he knows that Carl doesn't have the time to spare. Still, Carl politely accepts, and he is overjoyed to have company.

Three days later, just when he's begun to lose his mind again, there's a knock at the door. 

The moment that Kurt opens it and sees David standing there practically invisible under layer upon layer of outerwear, he knows that something is wrong.

"Kurt, may I come in?"

"Of course."

Once he's down a few layers, and groaning with pleasure at the heat in the cabin, Kurt presses a mug into his hands and sits down beside him on the couch. "Is everything alright?" 

"You mustn't panic," he replies.

Which is, of course, the instant cue for panic. 

Kurt's body goes cold with fear. "Is Blaine alright?"

"He's sick. It's not fatal, and he's being treated and responding—but he is still contagious. He's been quarantined with Trent."

"Oh god," Kurt breathes out, clutching his stomach. "Oh, god, oh god."

It's like being eaten alive from the inside out and having to be sick at the same time. The room tilts.

David strokes his forearm. "We've seen it before. He just has to rest and take the treatment."

Kurt has no idea how David can be so calm. He has seen simple illnesses kill in days in Winter. 

"I—I can't see him?" he asks, his voice breaking as he clutches David's hand.

David sighs. "I know that it's not what you want to hear, but no. We can't risk you getting sick, too. The moment that he isn't contagious, I'll come for you, but until then—you'll have to sit tight. It's bad out there. We're hunkered down as far as we've ever gone. I barely made it here from my cabin."

Kurt finds himself asking mechanically, lips trembling, "Anything major? Breakdowns, or...?"

"The usual burst pipes, busted heating assemblies, and backed up venting. We're managing. Every year the repair work flows a little more efficiently."

"I have, um, some tea that my mom used to make when we'd get sick," he babbles, and fetches a little box of tea satchels from the kitchen. "I made far too much of it. Please, have Blaine drink some, and tell him—I know we're not supposed to communicate outside of the dates but please, tell him that I—" _Would do anything to be by his side right now._ "I'm thinking of him and I can't wait to see him, as soon as he's well enough," he finishes, pressing the box into David's hands.

"I will," David says, rising. "I'm sorry that I can't stay longer. But I'll speak to Carl about—"

"Don't worry about me," he interrupts, trailing David to the door. "Please, just keep me updated. I want to know if his condition changes."

Despite the fact that Kurt does receive updates in the weeks that follow, he worries himself sick, anyway. 

He wakes up every day prepared to rush to Blaine's side. He has more conversations than he'd like to admit with Patrick, who snuffles his hair and eats from his hand and looks at him as if to say, _well I don't know what you expect me to do about it; I'm a horse_. Sam is kinder, sleeps next to him and sits at his feet when he's writing or reading or tinkering or sewing to take his mind off of things.

He takes short walks along a path that he's dug around the backyard, a loop that leads around the perimeter and down to the horse stable and back again, to make sure that his muscles don't suffer from inactivity. The cold air is like a slap to the face, but it's a refreshing change from the stale, recycled air in the cabin.

Every few days, someone from the house manages to brave the weather to tell him that Blaine is recovering but weak. Knowing this doesn't comfort to Kurt, who can't stand not being there.

The snow grows ever deeper, and Winter darkens. 

Another thirty days pass with no hope of making it to the manor. At one stretch, Kurt doesn't hear anything or see anyone for a full two weeks, and only then because a pause in the storm allows someone the visibility to locate his cabin. It's a strapping young lad from the village, who tells him that Blaine is out of danger, but the illness has spread through the house, and there is no way for Kurt to come without risking his own health.

As the weeks pass, Kurt's ability to cope with the situation begins to fail him.

He feels wretched. 

Every few days he'll drag himself out of his sulk, scour his skin with near to boiling water and soap, force himself to eat and shave and style his hair, and all that leads to is him wondering why he's even bothering.

He can't stand being cut off from everything, especially while the people who he cares about suffer.

In the end, it's almost three months before the weather begins to change. There is a less freezing day, and then a less freezing week. The snow that blankets the world remains, but grows no deeper. Kurt readies himself. By the end of February, he's at the window all day, watching the road for signs of life.

When someone finally comes, it's Carl. 

He surprises Kurt by reaching out and dragging him into a tight embrace. "What a relief," he cries, "what a relief!"

"Please tell me that everyone is alright," Kurt begs, dragging him inside.

"Lost a few in the house," he says. "Sorry to say. It was a rough one. But Blaine is resting comfortably. Whining about wanting to get out of bed and back to work, when he can work up the strength to shout."

Kurt's body goes so weak with relief that he sinks down onto a chair without even realizing that he's doing it. "Now tell me that you've got another pair of those snowshoes. I'm coming with you, and I'm going to see him, and if anyone so much as thinks the phrase 'courtship rules' I will punch them in the nose."

Carl laughs. "Damn, Kurt. We've missed you. And yes, I've another pair. I have no intention of leaving without you. Pack for at least a week. I've got a page coming up the trail behind me who'll stay behind to keep your house and animals for you."

This is all that Kurt needs to hear. 

After a quick goodbye to Patrick and Sam, he throws a bag together, changes into suitable clothing, and lets Carl strap him into outerwear and the snowshoes. 

By the time that they arrive at the manor, it's dark. Kurt is drenched in sweat and so exhausted that he can't feel anything but the burning ache in his muscles. He barely makes it through the front doors before he collapses onto a chair and begins whipping his outerwear off. Carl falls down beside him. 

"Sorry. Couldn't stop. Guest quarters? I need to get warm. Can't—do anything, like this," he says.

"Of course. This way."

He knows the way. He just needs someone to lean on to get himself there.

The shower that he takes feels wonderful, but he doesn't linger. He's still damp, in fact, when he shrugs into a pair of pajamas and a robe and slippers.

He finds Trent waiting for him outside of Blaine's bedroom, looking thin and chalky around his mouth and eyes.

Kurt doesn't hesitate to hug him. "How are you feeling?"

Trent clings to him. "Passable. Kurt, I—I am so sorry. You never should have had to stay out there alone as long as you did. I should have planned better, should have done something—"

Kurt sucks in a breath. "Trent. We can argue that later. I need to see him. Just let me see him."

"He's asleep," Trent says, but opens the door. "Try not to rouse him?"

The first thing that Kurt notices is that the room is stiflingly hot—the second is that it smells sour and medicinal. He's shrugging out of his robe and slippers before he even glances at the bed, and by the time that he makes it over there with Trent trailing behind him, his eyes are glazed over with tears. 

Blaine looks so small, buried under the covers, a lump of a man rising and falling with breathing, a shock of greasy, dark curls on the pillow and nothing else. He could have slipped away so easily, without even allowing Kurt the chance to say goodbye.

They've barely said hello.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt moans, under his breath, and folds back the corner of Blaine's blankets. He turns to Trent. "I'm getting in with him. I don't care if—"

"Kurt," Trent groans. "It's alright. Please, go ahead."

Blaine has lost weight. He looks ghastly and reeks of sickness. Kurt doesn't care. He wraps his arms around Blaine, throws one leg over his body and tucks his face against Blaine's chest. Blaine groans and moves under him but doesn't wake up, and he closes his eyes and feels tears leak from their corners.

"I'm here," he says, stroking Blaine's sweat-damp pajamas. "I'm here, I'm here."

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he falls asleep without meaning to.

 

*

 

Blaine wakes up to sweat-soaked sheets, a dry mouth, and Kurt in his arms.

For a solid minute he isn't sure if he's dreaming or hallucinating or disoriented or all three in regards to that last. The past couple of months have passed in a haze of fever, turning real life into the dream instead of the other way around; he is hesitant to accept this for what it seems to be.

Trent rises as soon as Blaine's eyelids crack open, and rushes to the foot of his bed. "Carl went for him as soon as the snow stopped," he explains, looking ill himself, still. 

Blaine's memory is full of holes, but he's been awake more often than asleep the last few days, and he feels as if he might actually be able to keep events strung together again. He looks down at the beautiful man in his arms, and shudders through the relief of the knowledge that they are both whole and alive and the worst is passed.

"He was alone for too long," he rasps, his voice threadbare. "That should never have happened."

"This illness shouldn't have happened," Trent reminds him, jaw tight. "We couldn't risk him catching it. I'm sorry."

"Please, leave us?" 

"I can't do that."

"Then for god's sake, give us a moment."

Blaine is not feeling charitable. He's weak and thirsty and filthy. He wants to speak to Kurt without having to worry about someone else listening in, and it's driving him mad that he can't. 

What must it have been like for Kurt, to be alone for that long, able to do nothing but worry? It had certainly not been the cozy Winter that they'd talked about sharing. But Blaine supposes that he has wallowed in these thoughts for long enough. Kurt isn't sick, and he's here now.

He burrows deeper into Kurt's arms, twining their legs and tucking himself up beneath Kurt's chin and inhaling his scent. He smells sweet and herbal and fresh and like _Kurt_ , and the heady combination of smell and touch and reunion barrels through Blaine like a boulder down a hill. It's all that he needs to relax back into sleep.

He has no idea how long they sleep tangled up in one another, but the nighttime lights are on when he opens his eyes next. Kurt is lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, wide awake and watching him. The pleasure that crests over Kurt's face when he looks up at him is so intimate, so focused, that Blaine's heart skips a beat. Heedless of Trent sitting at a table in the corner of the room, Kurt traces the line of Blaine's cheek, all the way to his chin, where his thumb stops to press Blaine's bottom lip and stroke across it.

"Hello," he breathes. His are as green as jade.

Blaine swallows around the lump in his throat. "Kurt." 

He wants to kiss Kurt, but not like this—not with an audience, and not with the way that his breath stinks at the moment. Kurt saves him the trouble of the temptation by wrapping him up in a tight embrace and pressing his face into the curve of Blaine's neck. He settles there, his cheek and the tip of his nose and the sharp turn of his jaw rubbing along Blaine's, and his lips brush Blaine's ear, kissing there.

"I'm so sorry—" Blaine begins.

"Shh, don't." Kurt kisses below his ear, and then behind it. He begins to speak again, but Kurt presses two fingertips to his lips and whispers, "All that matters to me right now is that I get to tell you, before another moment passes, that I love you." He pulls back, framing Blaine's face with his hands before pressing their foreheads together. "I love you so much, Blaine, and I should have told you sooner."

Blaine makes a noise, but it dies in his throat. He doesn't think that he'll ever forget the way that Kurt looks as he says this for the first time, driven and so very, very sure, looking twice his age and strikingly beautiful. He tangles his hands weakly in Kurt's tunic and huffs a wet, twisted breath.

"I love you, too," he chokes out.

Kurt strokes his face, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"You're here," he says, as if that explains everything.

Kurt smiles, slow and sweet and teasing. "You know... If you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do was ask. This getting deathly ill nonsense wasn't necessary." Blaine laughs, for the first time in what feels like years, then coughs, and Kurt strokes his back through it. "Let me take care of you. Do you want something to eat? Water?"

"Water and bread would do, but mostly I just want to bathe. I salute you for putting up with the stench as long as you have."

"Oh, hush," Kurt admonishes, sitting up. The blankets pool around his hips, and for a moment Blaine forgets being sick entirely. "Trent, could you draw a bath and send for water and bread? And clear broth, please."

Trent helps Blaine walk to the bathroom, then fills the tub before helping him undress and step into it. Once he's comfortably submerged in cloudy bath water, Kurt comes in bearing a tray that holds a steaming mug of tea, a glass of water, a bowl of broth, and warm, lightly buttered bread.

"I left the preserves off," he says, sitting on a stool beside the tub, "but do you think that you could manage them?"

Blaine braces his arms against the lip of the tub. He dunks himself under the water once, then twice, and then settles with a groan. "I'll try; sweet things were not settling well last week."

Kurt's cheeks are pink from the warmth of the bath water. He keeps averting his gaze with little smiles, and Blaine can't help but smile back. Kurt's interested glances are no longer bashful, but they are still sweet, and they make Blaine feel as light as a feather. 

The house has been so gloomy since the sickness came—it feels good to be reminded of something happy. It also feels good to allow Kurt to pamper him, to feed him bites of fresh bread and sips of broth.

He can't help but make a face at the tea, though. 

"Would you be very angry with me if I declined the tea?" he asks.

Kurt's faces goes still. "You hated it."

"They made me drink it for days. It's very good. It just makes me remember all of the throwing up I was doing."

Kurt laughs. "I see. Well. Water is just as good for you right now, anyway."

There is a moment of quiet ease, then, when Kurt tangles one hand in Blaine's wet curls and gently massages the back of his head and neck, dismissing tension and pain that have lingered there for weeks. He closes his eyes and gives silent thanks for this wonderful man who cares so very much for him, and for the food in his belly, and the heating coils that keep the bath water hot, and even for Trent, who he hasn't been very kind to lately.

"I don't suppose that he'd let me in there with you the way that he let me into the bed," Kurt comments dryly, and Blaine snorts as Trent lets out a choked off laugh.

"I doubt it, love," Blaine says, and watches Kurt's face go red at the endearment.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Blaine feels the weight of it to the tips of his toes. Suddenly, everything feels—serious. More permanent than it ever has before. The way that Kurt is looking at him, in that settled, content way—he exhales, and turns his cheek further into Kurt's hand.

"Can I—um. Can I wash your hair?" Kurt asks.

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

Kurt turns out to be a very thorough hair washer, digging his fingers into Blaine's curls and getting at his scalp in places that Blaine would never linger on. He takes his time, getting soapy up to his elbows, his knees bracketing Blaine's head on the lip of the tub. It's like being stroked everywhere at once—Blaine's scalp is very sensitive. He's thankful that he still feels sick, otherwise this could have easily become a problem in a very different way.

And then Kurt offers to wash his back. 

Despite everything, he feels himself twitch between his legs under the water at the soapy, warm, hard drag of Kurt's fingers up and down his back, and he allows himself to linger on a rather lovely fantasy of what it might be like to draw Kurt's hand beneath the water and place it just so—

He clears his throat and sits up, capturing Kurt's hand to kiss the back of his knuckles. "Thank you."

Kurt, flushed to his ears, crosses his legs tightly. "You're welcome." He clears his throat and, after a moment, asks, "Would you like to talk about it?"

Blaine closes his eyes and says, "My Aunt Susan and cousin Manuel didn't make it. They were among the first to get sick—it hit them hard, and fast."

"Oh," Kurt breathes, putting a hand to his mouth. He'd met them both at the Apple Festival. "Oh, no." He bites his lip and his eyes burn. "I'm so sorry."

"I couldn't make it to the ceremony to say goodbye," Blaine says, his chest aching. "As soon as I'm able to get around I'm going to pay a visit to their immediate family."

"I'd like to come with you, if that's allowed," Kurt says.

"I—" Blaine pauses. "I have no idea what the plan is, for your stay. We've missed so many scheduled dates."

"I'll speak with your parents," Trent says. "We'll see what they prefer."

They part ways for Blaine to step out of the tub and slide into a robe, and then come together again in the bedroom, Kurt reaching for his waist before Trent even lets go of it, taking most of his weight and leading him back into bed. Kurt helps him put a little pomade in his hair to keep it from frizzing up into its usual post-bath puff, and then sits at the foot of his bed while he gets settled again. Walking even the short distance from the bathroom to the bed had been enough to make him feel light-headed all over again.

He accepts another drink of water and after he's finished that, Kurt rubs his feet under the warm covers.

"This is a dangerous precedent that you're setting."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I'll expect this kind of pampering all the time now," he says, joking.

Kurt smiles, sliding his fingers over Blaine's left ankle bone. "Pampering? Oh, no. This is purely selfish. When else would they let me touch you like this? In a bed, no less?"

Blaine's skin goes warm and tight with goosebumps. He isn't sure how far they can take this, but when Kurt moves to crawl under the covers with him Trent says nothing, just sprawls out on the lounge in Blaine's sitting area and tugs a blanket over himself. 

When everything is dark and quiet, Kurt's arms slither around his waist.

"He's going to let us sleep together?"

"Looks that way," Blaine replies.

Despite how tempting the situation is, Blaine is still far too sick to feel urgent about taking advantage of it—the moment that he's comfortable with Kurt beside him, he falls asleep.

 

*

 

Being with Blaine—sleeping beside him, eating meals with him, and taking care of him—is the best cure for Kurt's lonely, worried heart in the week that follows.

They take a day to visit the families of those who the illness had taken. Kurt spends most of that day holding hands and hugging people, and even hosting lapfuls of children in turns with Blaine as they offer their condolences. He keeps waiting to feel out of place around his new family, but never quite does—their grief is now his to share, and they have accepted him into their lives unconditionally.

All through this, Blaine is by his side, a hand in his or at the small of his back. Together, they act as a single, effective unit, and it feels as if everyone else is beginning to view them as such.

There is a limit to this courtship exception, however. At the end of the week, Trent tells them that Kurt must get back to his cabin. Naturally, Kurt would rather stay, but he hadn't expected to be given a full week with Blaine to begin with, and he doesn't want to seem ungrateful. The weather has taken a turn for the warmer, and the snow is melting. They'll even be able to take horses back up into the hills, and that's a relief.

On their last evening together, Kurt brings up something to Blaine that they have never discussed before—his seventeenth birthday, and the move to the manor.

Blaine, reclined on the lounge in his bedroom beside him, replies, "We've lost time for the planning, it's true." He presses his fingers into Kurt's thick hair. "My birthday is in April. That month, our date will be the party. Your birthday is in May. Again, date, party—and your move to the house."

"How will it work, us living under the same roof and our interaction still being so restricted?"

"Once a week instead of once a month dates may go far in making it feel less so," Blaine answers, pressing his lips to the curve of Kurt's ear. "You'll also be in work training, which will consume most of your time." Kurt can feel Blaine's smile when he adds, "On the other hand, our dates will require less travel, so we'll have more time together. More intimate dinners, and evenings in and around the manor—I can take you to my favorite spots."

Kurt is thinking of so many things in this moment—grief and joy and the ways that they often have to exist side by side and sometimes right on top of each other. Emotional clarity—his confession of love and how right it had felt. Physical desire—his body's constant longing for Blaine's touch and proximity.

"Have I told you that I love you today?" he asks, and feels Blaine tense up beneath him. 

"Interesting, the things that affect you." He grins.

Blaine groans, tipping his head back as Kurt kisses down the side of his neck. "You have no idea."

"Are they going to have us living in separate wings of the house?" Kurt asks, opening his mouth wide enough to let Blaine feel his tongue.

Chest hitching, Blaine breathes, "Um. Y-yes, most likely."

"Will my bedroom's location be kept a guarded secret, in case you 'get lost' at night?" Kurt asks, working kisses down to the spot where Blaine's neck and shoulder meet.

"Ah—um," Blaine moans.

Kurt knows that he should stop—he can feel Blaine's reaction against the underside of his thigh. But to be able to create that is a heady feeling. He feels so powerful. He can't stop himself from pressing down, from allowing himself to feel Blaine's desire for him, hot and firm and throbbing beneath a single layer of clothing. He has no way of knowing if what he's doing is too much, or too little—he just knows that it feels good, and he wants more.

He pants against Blaine's neck, trying to hide what they're doing as completely as he can from Trent, who is giving them very little of his attention all the way across the room. He can feel Blaine shifting rhythmically against his leg, can feel Blaine breathing faster but try to remain quiet at the same time.

"Want you," Kurt breathes, stroking Blaine's stomach beneath the blanket with shaking fingers. "So badly—"

"Stop," Blaine whimpers, going still all at once. "Stop, stop, stop, or I won't be able to."

_Oh._

Kurt stops, but even when he lifts his leg, Blaine continues to rise against it, and—oh, dear.

"Um," he says, suddenly awkward.

"God," Blaine moans.

"I'm sorry." 

He'd no idea that it had grown that—urgent.

"I, uh," Blaine says, shifting to sit up. "I may need to—b-bathroom, one moment."

"Can you get there alright on your own?" Kurt asks guiltily.

"I'm—fine, just. It's alright."

Once Blaine is gone, Trent raises an eyebrow at Kurt from across the room, and all he can do is look properly embarrassed and be grateful for the opportunity to discourage his own reaction.

Later, Blaine smiles into his shoulder and says, "You derailed that conversation entirely, you know."

Kurt frowns. "I didn't mean to?"

"I'm joking."

"What did we not discuss?"

"Arrangements? I suppose you'll have a room in the guest wing. David will move in to the room next to yours. I imagine you may have more run ins with family, and probably end up spending more time in the village. You're welcome to bring Sam with you—the children will love him. Patrick can rejoin his friends in the stables. I have a crew already scheduled to do all the moving for you. You're welcome to supervise or assist, of course; I just don't want you to have to work on your birthday if you'd rather not."

Kurt is fine with that. He suspects that he isn't going to want to do anything but enjoy himself that day, in particular getting to visit with his dad, Carole, and Finn, who are coming for the party.

And speaking of parties...

"You've skipped right over your own birthday plans," he says, poking a fingertip into Blaine's side.

"I'm getting too old to fuss over it, honestly," Blaine replies. "There will be a dinner, I'm sure, but that's about it."

"Your parents are going to get me drunk again, aren't they?"

"That's part of the official celebrations here—I thought you'd figured it out by now?"

Kurt laughs. "Will you be there to witness it this time?"

"Well, now that I know what an intriguing drunk you are, I'll have to make sure that I am."

"We should do that dance."

"We should."

"Will Harry be there?" Kurt smiles playfully. "We should do it in front of him again."

Blaine groans. "Kurt."

"What is the story there, if you don't mind me asking?" He bats his eyelashes. "Now that I am entirely unaffected and not in any way jealous."

"Of course," Blaine says, amused. "He was assigned as my dance instructor when I was seventeen. We recreated for a few months, until he was asked to teach off-compound for a season. When he came back it just wasn't the same between us, and so we broke it off."

Kurt nods, his lips pursed in thought. "So he wasn't your first."

"No, he wasn't."

"And, uh—who was that?" he asks, trying to sound only casually interested.

Blaine sits up, props his chin on an up-turned palm and smiles. "You are very curious tonight."

"I'm curious every night. Come on, indulge me."

"Would you like the short or the long version of events?"

"Long, please."

"Naturally." He lies down again, tucking a pillow under his cheek. "I had just turned fifteen, and my parents were insistent that I be formally taught how to care for and ride horses, even though I had been teaching myself for years. They assigned the horse master to teach me, but he in turn assigned his youngest son—who was perhaps a few years older than me at the time—the duty, because he simply didn't have the time."

"What did his son look like?" Kurt interrupts, allowing the scenario to play out in his mind.

Blaine pauses, and then laughs. "Um. Blonde. Green eyes, if I recall correctly. He was big for his age, very mature looking. Not necessarily my sort of man, but then I didn't know what I liked or didn't like back then. I just knew that he had a deep voice and a stunning body, and that he made me feel things that I had never felt for another person before. We were wildly attracted to each other. I knew from the start that it was mutual—we were never subtle. But I was nervous. I had never been with anyone, much less someone older."

Kurt blinks. "So how did it happen?"

"You truly want the details?" Blaine asks.

He does, but he's not sure how much Blaine will tell him. "Whichever you'd like to share."

"We'd just finished our lesson for the day, and were talking as we always did—drawing it out, flirting, you know—something you've become very good at, you should not need me to explain."

Kurt grins and nudges him. "Stop delaying. What happened next?"

"He was actually rather gentle. He kissed me first, and didn't ask for anything more. It was weeks before he finally—tried to move things along, and even then he only—took care of me. He showed me what to do by doing things to me, and he was very patient. I was so hungry to show him how well I had learned my lessons that he hardly had to ask; once he allowed me to touch him in return, I became ravenous for him, and we did everything that two men can do together."

"What happened to end it?"

"It was lovely, but it was just physical, I think," Blaine says, smiling. "I am still very grateful for his patience—so many youths have horrendous first times, don't they? He ended up falling in love with a village boy when he was doing off-compound work one Spring, and off he went to get married. I was very happy for him."

"Oh, well, that is a happy ending, then," Kurt says.

He still feels strange, hearing all of this. Blaine has had so many intimate experiences and he'd had none before Blaine, and he isn't sure if that bothers Blaine as much as it bothers him. So he asks.

"Why would that bother me, love?" Blaine answers by way of asking, taking his hand under the blankets. "I know that you didn't have a choice, being a carrier. And no matter how you came to me, untouched or experienced or anything in between, it wouldn't have mattered. I would still have felt for you as I do now."

"But I want it to be perfect, with us," Kurt confesses. "And if I know nothing, how can it be?"

Blaine sighs, squeezing Kurt's hand. "The way that things are between us, the way that we are so very, very hungry for one another—means that when we finally are together that way, it is going to be incredible, even if it takes some time to perfect." He tips Kurt's chin up. "Before, when you were rubbing against me, how far gone I was, how much you were enjoying it—that tells me everything I need to know. You make me feel things that no other man has ever made me feel."

"I believe you—and I know what I feel. But I have no context for that, and it's frustrating."

Blaine nods, stroking his feverish cheek. "I will make sure that you understand it all, when I can. I promise." He can't ask for more, so he just nods, and turns his lips against Blaine's palm. "Your instincts are good. Don't doubt them." He goes quiet at that, letting Blaine stroke his hair until his body is sliding into sleep.

"Soon it will be like this every day," Blaine murmurs.


	7. Chapter 7

The compound slowly comes to life again. Where before there had been nothing but snow and ice and silence, there are now people and noise in the streets. Shops reopen. Market days begin again. Horse and transport travel resume.

Kurt receives a letter from his dad, and is overjoyed to hear that Lima had fared well. He replies, telling his dad about his lessons, the trials that the compound had gone through, and his blossoming romance with Blaine. He writes about his involvement in the changes to the work placement program, his meeting with Marley, and the plans for Blaine's birthday party.

His search for the perfect accompaniment to Blaine's birthday gift leads him, one lovely afternoon, to a musical instrument shop.

He is greeted by the sight of a man behind the counter, probably in his forties, who is very obviously pregnant. Kurt hasn't seen another carrier since he was a child. He doesn't mean to stare, but he can't help it.

"Well, hello," the man says, waving. "What can I do for you, Kurt?"

Wanting to cover up his rudeness, Kurt blurts, perhaps just as rudely, "Congratulations!"

"Oh," the man says, putting a hand to his belly. "Thanks very much. We were just relieved that the little scamp didn't come early during the snows." He pauses. "My wife owns the shop, but she had to go pick up our first Spring delivery today, so it's just me, I'm afraid." He smiles. "She's the expert, but I'll do what I can for you."

Kurt is shocked to learn that the man's partner is a woman, and a little confused, as well. "If you don't mind me asking—it's—a personal curiosity, of course—how, if...?" 

"The name's Arthur. Why don't you have a seat?" Kurt sits, and Arthur joins him. "My wife can't have children. She had a miscarriage when she was younger, and lost the ability then. When the doctors were examining us, they found that I was a carrier. My brother-in-law was kind enough to help us out with a donation, and I conceived very quickly."

"Oh," Kurt says. His fingers have gone numb, and his skin is tingling. "Is it—how is it?"

"It was confusing at first," Arthur says. "The organ can be in different places, inside, you know—some carriers are way up front, the way I am. Some way in the back, so you can hardly tell that they're pregnant. Some off to the side, and that's a bit of a fuss. But—all in all—it's just discomfort, mostly. Everything sort of shifts to make room. But it was designed to work, and it does. It's just—different."

Kurt finds himself holding his breath, unable to look away. 

Will he carry like this, or in one of the other ways? Seeing it right in front of him is making him think about it in ways that he never has before. 

"You're nervous?" Arthur asks.

"I came looking to purchase a wooden flute, but instead I've grossly overstepped into your personal life," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, well," Arthur says, grunting as he stands with some difficulty, "I haven't had a customer all morning, so it's not a chore to talk to you. You've got this in your near future as well, eh?"

Kurt stands, and begins looking through the case of flutes in front of him. "To be honest, it's the one thing that we've discussed the least."

Arthur winks at him. "You get to do it the natural way. Enjoy the journey, lad!"

Kurt laughs, taken off-guard by the mature humor. "Oh, um. Ha. Yes. Of course. You're right."

"Are you looking for something for professional use, or something more decorative?"

"Somewhere in the middle? I'm a novice at best."

They get down to business with no further talk of pregnancy. 

Kurt purchases a flute with attractive lines and a floral motif whittled down its side. He thanks Arthur, apologizes again for his rudeness, and accepts an open invitation to discuss carrier-related topics should he ever feel the need.

The encounter leaves him rattled, but almost in a good way.

He decides to have lunch in the village before he goes home.

He's bundled up in front of a food stall, nibbling a stick of roasted meat and drinking from a cup of hot apple cider when he sees a group of mounted riders coming up the main road from the direction of the gates. 

He goes still when he notices Blaine at the head of the column. It's the first time that he has seen Blaine out in the village like this, and for a moment he wonders what would happen if he were to call out. But no—there's no point to that, and he knows it. He sighs an apple-flavored breath, and watches until Blaine is out of sight. 

Only then does he turn back to the woman running the stall, to bid her good day. She smiles knowingly at him, and he smiles back.

 

*

 

That same week, Kurt makes his first report on the changes to the work placement program. 

According to everything that Kurt has witnessed and recorded, the changes have been going well, and the industry managers are pleased with the results. At the end of his presentation, Jon pumps his hand and congratulates him on a job well done.

After that, David escorts him to another meeting—a review of training procedure for one of the repair worker programs—and another, and then another, both related to engineering and requiring little more than his "yes, that's fine" or "no, focus on this" before he's swept off again.

When the day is over, he asks, "That was a test, wasn't it?"

David laughs. "You were available. The meetings were going on. I didn't see the harm."

"If it had been a test, would I have passed?"

"I'd say so. Just don't tell Blaine. We promised him that we'd keep you away from work until after your birthday."

Days later, he sees his tutor, Lucy, for the first time in months. When he presents her with a stack of completed assignments, she's visibly surprised.

"These were supposed to last you until your birthday, you realize," she says.

"I was stuck inside all Winter," he replies. "I'm sorry?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You've completed my entire lesson plan for you, Kurt."

He's not quite sure what she means. Isn't there always more to learn? 

"What do you suggest?"

"My job was to bring you up to speed," she says, "and I've done that."

He frowns. "I—well. What if I have other questions?"

She smiles indulgently. "Go ahead."

"Can you tell me about the wedding ceremony?"

"I'm surprised that it's taken almost a year for you to work up to that one."

Kurt smiles. "If you can't say—"

"No, I can." She clears her throat. "There will be speeches—in this case, as your wedding is also your coronation, Blaine's parents will most likely give one, and Blaine and yourself the other. During and between the speeches, there is a signing ceremony in which you both commit yourselves as leaders, and then husbands, on paper—ink and blood. There is a hand-fasting, which is specific to the marriage portion of the contract signing. There is a public celebration after. That's the hard and fast structure—details are up to you and Blaine, including the speeches—which double as your vows, if you so choose."

He has so many ideas, and just as many things that he wants, but nothing can be decided until he consults with Blaine. He is sure that Blaine has as many ideas and preferences as he does.

Before Lucy leaves, he takes her hand and squeezes it. "Can I be honest? I really enjoy your company. Can we see each other, even without the lessons?"

She laughs. "Did you think that we would stop being friends once we finished your lessons?"

He's too embarrassed to admit that he had, and is just grateful that she leaves it at that.

 

*

 

The date that they have before Blaine's birthday is nothing complicated. 

The weather is warming up rapidly, leaving the land in places a sodden mess, but at higher elevations the forest is drier. They find a walking trail that's in good shape, and hike up into the mountains with a picnic in hand, Trent and David trailing behind them at a significant distances, and their hands laced and swinging between them.

They catch up. There's a lot to talk about; they've both been very busy. As he had with Lucy, Kurt brings up the wedding, and is not at all surprised when Blaine responds enthusiastically.

"I have a list," Blaine says, going red at the confession. "I knew you would, too. We could combine them, and see what that leaves us? The contract signing ceremony can be a bit stiff, but then there's also the party, the menu, and the music—we can do what we like with some things."

Kurt is so happy to share this excitement with Blaine. "And what about after the ceremony?"

"After?"

"After it's over. And we can..."

Blaine's throat bobs. "Oh. Um."

"Do we have options?"

"We could spend the first night of our retreat at the manor, if we don't feel like traveling at the end of the day. Or we could just go straight on to the retreat cabin—"

"Retreat cabin?"

"There's a thirty day period after the wedding of—private bonding and retreat. We have a property that's far enough away from the compound to ensure complete privacy."

"We have marriage retreats in the villages as well, of course, though not usually with that level of accommodation, and certainly not for a whole month," Kurt says.

Blaine's blush deepens. "This used to be for the purposes of making sure that an heir would be conceived the first month after marriage, but of course that's not quite as urgent these days."

A million things rush through Kurt's head at once, but it's the image of Arthur swollen up with child that makes a near-hysterical, questioning laugh rise in his throat. Blaine looks at him strangely. 

"Well. And why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why shouldn't there be a child?"

Blaine stops them in their tracks. "Is that what you want?"

"Is it what you want?" Kurt asks, freezing.

Blaine's mouth snaps shut. Negative tension swells between them. "It's your body, and your risk. I'm not sure if my opinion truly matters?"

"It's going to be your child, as well," Kurt points out, trying to remain even-toned. "I would say that you deserve to be a part of the discussion."

Blaine nods stiffly and they resume walking, though the space between them remains heavy, and Kurt's stomach won't stop twisting itself into knots. He doesn't like this at all. 

When they reach a fork in the trail, he tugs Blaine's hand to bring them to a stop again. "Blaine. We need to be honest with each other, here. I know that there's plenty of time, but..."

Blaine exhales all of the breath from his lungs. "You're right." The fear on his face makes Kurt afraid, too. "There is so much more to this than just saying yes or no."

"Okay," Kurt says, encouragingly, guiding them to take the left fork in the trail. "Go on."

"I'm terrified of losing you to pregnancy or childbirth. I'm terrified of being responsible for a child so soon after we marry. I'm not sure how we're going to continue to do our jobs and become proper parents at the same time, even though I know that we must, and that my parents did it with me. If we conceive in June and you deliver early, as carriers often do, you may have to give birth in Winter, which I don't want to risk." He works himself up to a fever pitch, and then draws them to a stop again, taking both of Kurt's hands in his and squeezing them. "Most of all, I want to—I want to know us. I want us to be—something, something well established, before we become someone's parents. I feel that if we don't take the time to be a couple, to be husbands first, nothing that follows will turn out well. I don't want to just put a child in your belly and let nature take its course." He tugs Kurt in closer. "What I'm trying to say is: I'm not ready. And that's—that's me, being honest."

Kurt listens patiently, his head tilted, and when Blaine's gotten it all out, when he's red-faced and glassy-eyed and looks fit to burst, he smiles and laces their fingers between them. "Breathe, love. I agree. Though my acceptance of the risk is greater than yours, I want us to be us first, too. I just wanted to know your thoughts. I could have broached the topic more gracefully. I'm sorry."

"I've been fearful of this since day one," Blaine admits, shame in his eyes. "I'm not sure that I have the right to be so panicky, when it's not my body—but Kurt, I—I can't help it. I love you."

"This thing inside of me that makes me different was built to function as it does. It's beyond nature. It's sort of—mechanical. Maybe that's why it doesn't scare me the way it scares you, because I trust machines more than you do, even when they aren't flawlessly made."

Blaine nods. "I understand, I do. But promise me that we won't try right away. That we won't aim for conception—not on the retreat, at least."

Kurt smiles, and tangles their fingers again. "Agreed."

They arrive at their picnic spot, a beautiful little clearing with a stream at its center.

"I had a feeling that you'd be the one to broach this topic," Blaine says fondly.

"We're different, that's all," Kurt replies, as they sit on a flat rock beside the stream.

"I'm glad," Blaine says, urging Kurt to stand again so that he can put his cloak down under them.

"Ah, better, thanks," Kurt says, and then, after a pause, "I am glad, too."

"Glad of what? Surely not this spot—awfully chilly up here," Trent says, coming up behind them with David in tow. David swats his arm. "What? It's the damned truth!"

Blaine laughs, and settles his head on Kurt's shoulder.

 

*

 

Kurt is up with the sun on Blaine's birthday, dressed—pale yellow pants fitted to his legs, and a knee-length black tunic that's slashed open down the arms to his elbows and unlaced to his collarbone, allowing his pale skin to glow through—and at the manor before he even fully wakes. 

When he arrives at the house, he discovers that he's going to be spending the morning with Blaine's mother. She greets him in the foyer, dressed in flawlessly tailored formal wear.

"Would you like to make the rounds with me, to make sure that all is set for the party?" she asks.

"I'd love to," he replies, even though she makes him a little nervous, and always has.

She guides him around the manor, explaining her choice of ballroom, of music, and of food—all related to Blaine's favorites. Kurt takes frantic mental notes. 

She loosens him up despite his anxiety, and by the time that they reach the kitchen she's joking with him like an old friend, and doesn't even tease him when he swipes a piece of sugar dough behind the baker's back. He avoids the swat of a wooden spoon—but only just—when she tugs him helpfully out of the way of it with a smile and a wink.

"It smells far too enticing in here, I agree; we ought to go," she says. "May I ask what you intend to give Blaine as a gift?"

"I'm going to perform a song for him," he says. "My village has a tune, one that I know he's very fond of. I wrote lyrics to accompany it, when I was little."

"Oh," she sighs, squeezing his forearm. "That's lovely. Excellent choice."

Kurt flushes with pleasure. "I'm glad that you approve."

At one point in their exploration they're ambushed by a gaggle of Blaine's younger cousins, and the little girl who had been Kurt's biggest fan during apple tag comes streaking up to him shouting, "Kurt Kurt Kurt!" before throwing her arms around his knees. "I'm gonna play the triangle," she finishes breathlessly.

"Oh, that's fun," he replies, petting her hair.

"If you behave, Lora," Anita says.

"I will," she says, drawing out the middle of the word in a softly impatient whine.

This, of course, leads to each child needing to tell Kurt about the various roles that they've been assigned for Blaine's party. Anita watches the exchange with fond amusement—that is, until the kids spot someone of greater interest down the hall, and swoop off like a pack of migratory birds.

He laughs, once they're out of sight. "Do they never travel apart?"

"They've been taught to look out for one another," she says.

Anita leads them to a sitting room in the guest wing, where they are served a light breakfast.

She waits, and then, into the somewhat awkward silence, says, "It's been a year."

His belly writhes with nervous worms. "It has."

She tilts her head at him. "You look older. Far older than almost seventeen. In a good way, of course. You've been very busy. You began to do your job before we asked you to." She folds her hands on the tabletop. "You have made my son very happy." 

"Thank you," he says, his manners reasserting themselves. He has no idea what else to say.

"Leadership can be a heavy burden. Marriage is often a job unto itself. Children are a joy, but also a responsibility. Is it all too much at once? Do you feel ready?"

He thinks that he could hear a pin drop, if only his heart would stop beating so loudly.

"It's not too much—but that doesn't mean I'm ready. I don't think that I'll ever be completely ready. But I am willing and able and determined. I love this province, and your son, very much."

She stares at him, and then a slow smile curls her mouth. "Good," she says. "That's very good."

This little "tour" had never been about Blaine's birthday, he realizes.

Before they part ways, she hugs him, surprising him yet again. "Blaine should be down momentarily." She puts him at arm's length. "Keep that attitude, Kurt. It suits you."

He's left standing there in a daze, wondering how he is going to even partially fill those shoes.

This thought goes right out of his head when Blaine appears at the top of the staircase.

He's wearing a pair of red pants so tight that they leave nothing to the imagination, and a brown, sleeveless tunic that is straining across the width of his shoulders.

"You were with my mother this whole time?" he asks, throwing himself into Kurt's arms. "Mm," he hums, burying his face in Kurt's neck. "You look amazing. You smell amazing. You are amazing."

"Happy birthday," Kurt replies, laughing. "And yes, I was."

"Have you eaten? Oh, of course you did—she likes to interrogate over breakfast."

Kurt laughs as Blaine hooks an arm around his waist. "I didn't manage to eat much of anything."

"To the kitchens, then," Blaine says. "She wasn't too hard on you, was she?"

Crossing the kitchen, Blaine receives birthday kisses from the staff. 

They settle at the ancient wooden table near the back, and someone sets a tray of stuffed bread and a pot of tea between them. 

"I seemed to satisfy her," Kurt says. 

"That is an accomplishment worthy of Bernardo's morning bread," Blaine says. 

It is very good—the cheese is soft and salty, the dried fruit is sweet, and the bread is so fresh that it's steaming. Nerves abating, Kurt manages to eat half a loaf on his own, chasing bites with tea, and then sits back, feeling better with a full stomach.

"Do we have time?" he asks.

"The party begins at dusk," Blaine says. "Until then, we can do whatever we like."

Kurt grins, lowers his voice and says, "I want to cuddle with you in these glorious clothes that you're wearing."

"You have the best ideas."

"You should consider that a physical challenge. Those are really rather unforgiving pants." 

He lets his eyes drift over Blaine from head to toe.

"Kurt Hummel, you are unfair!" He pauses, and then says excitedly, grabbing Kurt's hand, "But I am ready for my cuddles now." At the foot of the stairs, they encounter Trent, who glares at Blaine for giving him the slip. "Trent, there you are! We were—looking for you."

"Of course you were," he grumbles.

They go to the sitting room in Blaine's chambers, where Kurt is drawn down onto Blaine's lap the moment that Blaine is seated on the couch. 

He squeaks, rearranges himself, and stares bewildered at Trent, who sighs.

"It's his birthday; what am I supposed to do?"

"It's been a long year for you, hasn't it, Trent?" Kurt asks, feigning overly serious concern.

"It is so good to have my pain finally acknowledged," Trent grouses, and gives them his back.

Blaine laughs into Kurt's throat, and slides two hands up his spine. "Mm, come here."

"You are in an extraordinarily tactile mood today," Kurt says, going from warm to hot in about three seconds.

"It's my birthday, you love me, Winter is over, and I am going to a party that's being held in my honor tonight, with you by my side; what is there not to be giddy about?" he asks, nuzzling his mouth into the hollow of Kurt's throat. "God, you are gorgeous. Have I told you that today?"

"Yes, you have," Kurt breathes. "But feel free to repeat yourself." He threads his right hand through Blaine's hair, encouraging Blaine's mouth to travel South, and then lets out a soft, half-stifled noise of pleasure when it does.

"I love your tunic," Blaine says, breath warm against Kurt's skin, sliding his fingers between the flaps of cloth that run down the arms of the shirt to touch Kurt's bare biceps.

"Thank you," he says.

He means to return the compliment, but his body is growing so hot, so fast that he can't concentrate. Blaine's hands map his arms from bicep to wrist, his back from top to bottom, and then close in a firm clasp around his waist. Blaine's lips do delicate but masterful things to the skin just above Kurt collarbone, and it's all he can do to not moan outright.

"You taste like honeysuckle," Blaine whispers, dragging his open, wet mouth along the ridges of Kurt's clavicles.

Kurt chokes, "Is this how people 'cuddle' in your world?"

Blaine grins against his collarbone, one hand braced at the base of his spine—his fingers spread wide and then drag upwards, slowly and carefully, all the way from the small of his back to the nape of his neck, where they slide through the short hairs there. Kurt shivers so hard that his skin goes bumpy, and he can feel himself twitch in his snug pants.

"Okay," Blaine exhales against his ear. "I'm sorry." The fingers that he has in Kurt's hair tangle and twist, drawing him in to a more forgiving embrace. "Better? More of a cuddle?"

"I suppose," Kurt says, smiling. How could he resist those wide eyes?

Kurt lets himself be held, and eventually relaxes enough to enjoy it, though his nerves keep firing and he never quite turns off, not even when they have a completely routine conversation about Kurt's correspondence with his dad and his family's plans to attend Kurt's birthday next month.

As the afternoon wears on, the party slowly comes to life.

There are sprays of yellow roses everywhere for decoration, looped over doorways and bannisters and furniture. The smell of savory food and sweet pastries rise from the kitchens, mingling with the sweet scent of the roses as the house fills with people.

Kurt and Blaine, with Trent in tow, dodge the crowd, and wander from room to room. 

Blaine shows Kurt things that he has never seen before—Blaine's childhood nursery, storage rooms that hold interesting bits of tech and family history, Anita's private office, and a whole room dedicated to Jon's fishing poles. 

When the time comes to freshen up before dinner, they part ways at the staircase. David follows Kurt upstairs, and hovers politely out of the way while he accessorizes.

He wraps a black and yellow leather strip around his throat, and pushes bright metal rings through the lobes of his ears. He traces his eyes with yellow cosmetic to match his pants, and smears pink over his cheekbones to imitate a subtle blush. He dabs pomade into his hair, working it up high, until he's satisfied that it will hold for at least a few hours. He gives his boots a shine, makes sure that his seams are straight, and then does a turn in front of the mirror.

"Did something inspire this look?" David asks.

"Why do you ask?"

David smiles. "In case it's escaped your notice, no one here dresses the way that you do, aside from Blaine. It's like you both come from somewhere else."

"I can't speak for Blaine, but I do enjoy drawing inspiration from the brighter side of nature, instead of the camouflage that everyone else seems so fond of."

"It works," David says, tilting his head. "Rather well."

Kurt blushes. "Thank you."

Downstairs, he is quickly enveloped by the throng. There are hundreds of people in the ballroom, crowding its edges and grazing its tables. The room is full of noise and darker than Kurt has ever seen it, ringed in torchlight instead of electric light. The fresh pine rushes on the floor give off a sweet, sharp scent that combines with the scent of roses in an almost overpowering way.

Blaine is already in the seat of honor at the head of the table. 

Like Kurt, he has added flourishes to his outfit—a dark sash to match his tunic, offset by a red border and decorated with the various pins of his office. His hair is styled down, and his eyes are lined in black, just heavily enough to bring out the green and yellow flecks in his hazel eyes. He's wearing dark leather wrist bands and boots, and his mouth is shiny with gloss.

Kurt swallows thickly. Blaine looks so tempting, from his strong, bare arms to the fitted pants tucked into his boots, from his wide shoulders to his tiny waist.

He's also talking with his parents, so Kurt stifles his inappropriate thoughts and walks over to them, putting on a polite smile. Blaine lights up as soon as he sees Kurt, reaches for his hands and drags him in close for a hug and a chaste round of kisses dropped on his knuckles.

"You look incredible," he says, his eyes drinking Kurt in from head to toe.

"The things you do with color and form are stunning," Jon says. "It's no wonder that you have such an eye for transport aesthetics as well as their function."

Kurt smiles, feeling proud when Blaine's fingers tighten around his. "Thank you. I try."

Anita's smile matches her husband's. "Everyone is here. Would you like to give Blaine his present?"

"I would love to," he says, his heart beating faster.

Blaine stares at him curiously. Anita rings the bell beside her place setting, and the crowd settles, turning its attention to the raised platform at the front of the room.

Kurt has the flute in a little satchel attached to his hip. He takes a moment before he climbs the stage to play a few warm up notes, and then makes his way over to where the musicians are set up. The harpist who is joining him for the performance is already prepared.

Ready, he takes the stage. He smiles in the direction of the head table and says, "I'd like to wish my future husband, Blaine Anderson, the happiest of birthdays. This is for you."

The song that he plays is the song of his village, only set to a slower, more mature tempo, played with the flute and the harp in a way that it never has been before. 

Kurt had written a simple story to go along with it—a tale of two lovers who emerge from the deep freeze of Winter to love freely and safely in the warmth of Spring. When he sings the lyrics, the harp plays on its own, and when he plays the flute, the harp joins him again.

He finds Blaine's face in the crowd and holds it, and something inside of him just—lets go. His nervousness, the expectant sea of faces, and the feel of the ancient hall around him disappear, and he sinks into the words and the melodies and lets his adoration of Blaine shine through them.

There's a sultry tone to his version of the song, especially when he sings about the two lovers taking advantage of the warmth of Spring to reaffirm their bond outdoors. He can see the change in Blaine's expression when he picks up on it—his cheeks darken, his lips part, and he can't look away from Kurt. The air in the room shimmers and vibrates at the edges of their connection, and Kurt does absolutely nothing to discourage this. He flies on the wings of the freedom of performance, hitting high notes effortlessly and swooping down to his chest voice with ease.

After the song ends, there's a beat of silence and then deafening applause. He blushes through it, curtseying with his legs crossed. When the applause dies down, Blaine rises, clasps his hands together and bows at the waist in Kurt's direction.

"You've shown us a whole new side of Lima with that, as well as humbled us with your talent. It was beautiful. Thank you, Kurt," he says, veritably glowing with pride and affection.

Kurt trembles all the way back to his seat beside Blaine at the table, adrenaline rushing in once the focus of the room is not on him. He wraps both of his hands around Blaine's below the table, and they cling subtly to one another as the band begins to play again.

They sit through performance after performance—skits and songs, both sung and played—and when these are finished, the floor is cleared for dancing.

"Dance with me," he says, loose from the cider that he's been steadily drinking.

"Not too far gone, are we?" Blaine asks, smiling cheekily.

"Never."

There are several formal dances, some in pairs and some in groups. They dance the lark dance, to raucous applause. But then the liquor starts flowing freely. The children are ushered off to eat, and the crowd grows too thick for choreographed steps. 

The music swells with percussion, a rhythmic knocking that Kurt can feel through the heels of his boots. He slides his arms around Blaine's neck. The flickering torchlight hides much, and between the shadows on the dance floor they are just two bodies among dozens. 

He closes his eyes, tips their cheeks together, and turns against Blaine's body, lost in the crush of people and the lingering buzz of the alcohol in his bloodstream. It's a little unsettling, until Blaine's arms wrap around his waist to ground him.

It's Spring, Blaine's birthday, and next year they will be married. Everything about their here and now is amazing, and he's so full of it, so alive with it—he can hardly believe that this is his life.

The darkness on the dance floor swallows them again as the song switches to something low and throbbing. He can feel Blaine's fingers scrape down his spine as his own shove gracelessly into Blaine's hair. The air is heavy with the scent of roses and pine and spirits and bodies, and Kurt feels like he's swimming against the current, arching his body forward with every shift in rhythm.

Blaine breathes hot over the shell of his ear. "Kurt—"

"Just hold me," he says, raking his fingernails over Blaine's scalp. "Just hold me tighter."

Blaine turns his jaw, just a fraction of an inch but it's enough to get their faces close, so close that Kurt can feel the spit at the corner of Blaine's mouth and the surge of his breathing. He presses one of his legs in between Blaine's, and feels the shudder that runs through him in response. He drags one hand down the back of Blaine's head to clasp his neck, and rolls their bodies together.

The makeup that Kurt is wearing begins to smear and grow tacky with sweat, rubbing off onto Blaine's cheekbone when they grind against each other. He can't breathe—it's so hot and close between them, and the music is loud enough to drown everything around them in sound.

And then, slowly, the mood changes. The music picks up. Lights are lit. 

Blaine pries their bodies apart, inch by inch. "Dinner is—"

"No," Kurt groans, holding on. "No, don't let me go."

"Love," Blaine says, "we have to."

Letting go is a torment, but they don't have a choice. 

Blaine leads them back to the table, where speeches are made—by Blaine's parents, by his aunts and uncles and cousins, by a variety of business owners and guild masters—all accompanied by gifts or promises, and with each one Blaine has to make a polite thanks or response. 

Kurt sits through it all, vibrating like a plucked harp string.

Dinner follows, but he hardly tastes anything. Blaine's hand is stroking up and down his thigh beneath the table, and he is breathing so rapidly that he can barely make dinner conversation.

Towards the end of the meal, a different set of musicians begin to play. Trays of fresh spirits are brought around, and the children are led off to bed.

Kurt doesn't notice the slip of paper being pushed under his fingers until Blaine gently tweaks them, stands, and then bends to kiss his hair. "Read it," he whispers in Kurt's ear. "Discreetly. I have to make the rounds before drink makes the effort pointless."

The first chance that Kurt gets to slide the paper into his lap and peek at it, he takes.

It reads:

_At eleven exactly, meet me in the family library. - B_

 

*

 

Kurt has no idea how he manages to exit the ballroom and creep upstairs without being spotted, but he isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He finds the public library open and predictably empty, so he moves on soft feet to the other side of the room. The Anderson family library's door is open.

He steps inside, unsure about closing the door behind him. Will it lock on its own? Undecided, he pushes it almost to the jamb, and then turns to stare into the room. 

There's moonlight streaming in through the glass balcony doors, so it's not completely dark inside, but there also isn't enough light to search the room by.

The curtains on the balcony doors rustle, and he snaps to attention, startled—until he spots the familiar outline of Blaine's hair. His chest deflates with relief and he smiles, nudging the door shut behind him—Blaine can open it, and so that is no longer a concern.

"Blaine," he says. "What's going on?"

Blaine stands in a stream of moonlight, looking a little mischievous. "Trent and David's birthday gift to me this year was ten minutes." When Kurt continues to stare at him in confusion, he smiles, and raises his hands to the room. "Kurt. We're _alone_."

Kurt, who has spent almost an entire year with their chaperones as his own personal shadows, hadn't even thought to look around them. He has no idea what to do with that information, at first. Blaine is looking at him with a hunger so desperate, so intense, that it almost scares him—until, of course, he realizes that he is making the exact same face. 

"We've never—it's never been—" Blaine stops, and tries again. "It's never been like this, I know."

Something building at the base of Kurt's spine begins to spark and flicker. He shivers through it, through Blaine's words, but then reaches out, putting his hands on Blaine's shoulders. 

"Blaine. I don't want to talk anymore," he whispers.

They come together awkwardly, as if wary of pain at the intensity of the connection, Blaine drifting trance-like into the circle of Kurt's forearms. 

Kurt whines—actually whines at his nearness, bending down to press their foreheads and the bridges of their noses together. He turns his face to the side and inhales, because he's forgotten how to breathe and his lungs are hurting and he can't see straight.

"Blaine," he moans. "Can we—can we please—" Blaine breathes shakily over his open mouth.

"Kiss me," Blaine rasps, his fingers closing around Kurt's forearms. "God, kiss me, kiss me—"

Kurt slams their mouths together with a groan.

The fire is so hot that it feels cold, and then Blaine tilts his head and slots their lips together and moans and surges up against him and—oh, god. 

_Oh god oh god oh god._

He whimpers, and lunges hungrily forward. 

Blaine's hands cup his neck and pull him in, thumbs braces just behind his ears, and they're kissing, kissing over and over again, wet and warm and strange and full of tongue.

Kurt dissolves.

They back up, step by step, until they reach the sitting area of the library. Kurt presses Blaine down onto a plush armchair and follows him, straddling his lap and recapturing his mouth.

He can't imagine how anyone, given the chance to do this, could ever manage to accomplish anything else ever again. He can't imagine a world where they aren't touching like this, fingers and lips and soft hair and Blaine's hard body under his. 

Arousal doesn't matter—it can't matter, because it's too much for Kurt to hold onto. 

It's wet. It's so wet, and so warm, and so good. It makes every nerve ending in his body snap.

But it's also the physical expression of every _I love you_ , every _I want you_ , and every _I miss you_ that they've ever shared. Every breath-stopping moment since the day that Kurt had stepped out of a transport and seen Blaine at the foot of the stairs in front of the manor, looking as nervous and elated as he had felt, handsome and kind and everything that Kurt has ever dreamed of.

His husband. His partner. His love.

He gasps, tearing their mouths apart. He has to look at Blaine. Blaine looks back at him, pupils blown, cheeks red, hair a mess, the skin around his mouth scraped raw by Kurt's stubble. His chest is heaving, and his hands are on Kurt's lower back.

"Oh my god," Blaine whines, fingers scrabbling against Kurt's tunic. "Don't stop."

Kurt doesn't know why, but his first response to that is to giggle breathlessly. In between gasps of joyous laughter he kisses Blaine's open, begging mouth, over and over again.

Blaine's hands slides down Kurt's sides, glance off of his hips and then curls around the backs of his thighs. Kurt's breath catches when Blaine's fingers tighten around the backs of his knees to draw him deeper into his lap. Warm, syrupy arousal spreads through him, so subsumed that it feels like it's using his bones to travel.

Kurt learns how to gently play his tongue in and out of Blaine's mouth. He learns how to suckle at Blaine's lips separately to draw the blood to the surface of his delicate skin. He learns how hard to nip to get Blaine to hiss and buck up against him. He learns how to breathe through his nose and to ignore the spit on his chin.

There's a pause, and he sucks in a breath.

"Touch me," he begs into the silence, urgency pinching his flesh like fingers. "Touch me, please, touch me."

Blaine slides his hands up and under Kurt's tunic in search of the blazing hot skin over his back. He groans, splays his hands as wide as they can go and begins roughly stroking up and down as they kiss, tracing the dips of Kurt's back, the bumps of his spine, and the impossibly wide flare of his shoulders, again and again and again, until Kurt begins to moan.

Skin to skin and mouth to mouth, Kurt finds himself bending into the touch, and bending becomes writhing, and the writhing takes on a rhythm, and—they are as they always become, aroused and straining against their pants, only now they're pressed together for it. Kurt's pelvis is churning, and Blaine's hips are answering that churn eagerly. The chair squeaks beneath them.

"Oh," Blaine moans.

Kurt opens his eyes, and stops moving. "This—" He pants. "This is all we can do, isn't it?"

"Unless you want us to have our first time in this chair in the next few minutes, then yes."

Kurt has never been this aroused before in the presence of another person—he is fully tenting his pants, aching and throbbing behind his laces, so badly that it hurts. It's like torture to stop, when his body is screaming at him for more, when all that he can think is _release_ , even though he has no idea what that entails. 

He lowers his mouth to Blaine's again, and for the first time it feels natural, their lips cushioned together, their tongues meeting smoothly in between their open mouths.

"Love your mouth," Blaine murmurs, cupping his jaw. "Love tasting you."

Kurt sucks at Blaine's tongue as it retreats. "Am I doing this right?"

"You can feel me, can't you? That is all the confirmation you need."

Kurt smiles, and then confesses, "My pants are just as tight as yours at the moment."

Blaine laughs, overwhelmed. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. It isn't very amusing."

He laughs again, burying his face in Kurt's neck. "Stop! Oh, we are a mess." Kurt takes advantage of the pause by beginning to kiss Blaine's neck. "God. You are a natural."

Kurt stares at Blaine's collarbone, at the chest hair just below the neckline of his tunic, at the swell of his pectoral muscles and the flat in tuck of his belly and waist, and at his curvy little hips and round backside filling the seat of the chair. 

He can see Blaine, erect beneath his pants, between his trim muscled thighs. His mouth fills with saliva. He wants, in a fiercely superficial way that is new to him. He breathes in unsteadily.

"When we're married," he says, lowering his lips to Blaine's collarbone, "I want to learn every inch of your body." He throbs at the admission.

Blaine trembles, his head back, his thighs twitching. "K-Kurt—"

Overcome, Kurt drags his hand down Blaine's thigh, edging his thumb alongside the warm, firm, swollen bulge there. He's breathing so quickly that there are spots swimming in front of his eyes. 

"Does it count if only one of us—finishes?" he asks, biting down on Blaine's shoulder.

"Oh my god, we can't," Blaine gasps. "We're already out of time."

Kurt whimpers in frustration, pinning Blaine's thighs beneath his. "Damn. I need to stop."

"Me too," Blaine says, chest rising and falling rapidly. "We need to separate."

It feels like tearing off a limb, climbing off of Blaine's lap.

"Is there an, ah, exit strategy to this plan, so that we aren't seen leaving together?" he asks, barely getting the words out.

"If you take the, um, the service stairwell off of the main library, it will lead you to the kitchens, and you know the way from there. I'll take the public route," Blaine answers, breathing heavily. "I'll give you five minutes to get ahead of me, alright?"

Kurt can't resist diving in for one last round of kisses—Blaine whimpers into his mouth as he takes them, and gives them back with equal fervor. 

They rip themselves apart again, and stare at each other in awe. It isn't as if they hadn't known that it could be like this, but knowing that and experiencing it are two different things.

Kurt holds onto Blaine as long as he can, dabbing kisses against his mouth, slowly, hungrily.

"A lifetime wouldn't be enough," Blaine breathes.

Kurt takes a step back and lets go, his eyes lingering on Blaine. "I'll see you downstairs."

Going directly there, however, isn't an option, at least not until—

He takes a step and groans.

After exiting the library, he ducks into a bathroom to splash cold water onto his face. 

He stares into the looking glass, shocked by what stares back at him. 

His neck, both above and below his leather collar, is covered in small, red bruises. His makeup is so smeared that he looks like something out of a nightmare. His mouth is swollen and ringed in friction burn. His hair is mused, full of finger-shaped dips and drags. His pupils are dilated and his nipples are hard beneath his tunic. 

He looks completely and utterly debauched, and the sight of it is making him stiffen again, because it's there, written across his features in such simple language, and he can still feel and taste Blaine, and oh god, he needs to stop.

With purpose, he takes a towel, wets it, and uses it to remove his makeup. There's no fixing it, and leaving it as is would be too telling. He washes the pomade out of his hair and wets it again, slicking it back. He readjusts and smooths his clothing. There is nothing that he can do about the marks on his neck, but he ties his tunic up properly and that covers some of them.

The party is still going strong when he sits back down at their table in the ballroom. 

After about ten or fifteen minutes, Blaine joins him. "Ah, so that's where you disappeared to."

Kurt's mind goes blank. All he can see is that gorgeous mouth and body in front of him.

"Huh?"

"You went to freshen up, obviously," Blaine says, so unsubtly loud that Kurt almost laughs.

He chokes, and then clears his throat. "Oh! Yes. I did. That is exactly what I did."

Trent, who is sitting a little ways down the table, rolls his eyes so hard that it looks painful.

Kurt giggles behind a hand as Blaine sits beside him, curling an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. "Get back alright?"

Kurt nods, and leans into him. "Let me make the excuses next time, hm?"

"Gladly."

"Good birthday, all in all?" he asks, smiling.

Blaine laughs into the side of his neck. "The best one yet, love."


	8. Chapter 8

His family coming to visit, his birthday, and moving day happening all in the same week is so overwhelming that Kurt doesn't know where to put his focus first.

It will be strange, he thinks, to entertain his family in a home that's been stripped to bare bones—most of his belongings have already been moved to the manor, minus a week's worth of clothing, food, and whatever essentials he needs to take care of himself—but he supposes that the abundance of space will be a good thing once Burt, Carole, and Finn arrive. 

On the day that they're set to arrive, he checks and double-checks everything, and changes his outfit four times (six, if you count two hairstyle do-overs). He's contemplating swapping scarves again when he hears the rumble of his dad's transport coming up the road.

Concern over how he looks abandons him the moment that he sees his dad. He rushes into Burt's outstretched arms with a happy little squeak.

"Well damn, look at you," Burt says, putting him at arm's length.

Kurt almost teases his dad about the tears on his cheeks when he realizes that he has some of his own to match. It has been the most amazing and insane year of his life, and letters have never have managed to duplicate the way that having his dad with him makes him feel.

Carole claims a hug, and when Finn receives one of his own, he holds tightly Kurt for a curiously long time. Kurt is blushing by the time that he lets go.

"Missed you, Kurt," Finn says, and it's so earnest—he would have died on the spot if that hug had been bestowed upon him a year ago. Today, it just makes him feel fraternally loved.

"I can only imagine the state of your wardrobe without me," he says, rolling his eyes fondly.

Finn laughs.

Carole loops an arm through his, and Burt takes the other.

"I'm sorry that you won't get to see the cabin as it has been," he says, leading them inside, where there's a meal already laid out. "But with the move and my party on the same day, I didn't want to have to spend time fussing over boxes."

His dad doesn't seem to mind. They sit side by side at the kitchen table, and he keeps reaching out to clasp Kurt's arm or shoulder or hand, beaming so brightly that Kurt imagines he could light the room with it if he had to. Finn and Carole enthuse over the food loudly and at length.

"How are you? Really?" Burt asks him.

He smiles. "Overwhelmed. But—in a good way."

"You look about ten years older."

"I obsessively checked for wrinkles this morning. Don't make me do it again."

Burt grins. "I meant that as a compliment. You look great. I feel like I left a little boy here last year and now I'm sitting next to a man."

Kurt's throat closes up. He laughs, and pushes food around his plate. "Thanks, Dad."

"We would've been here sooner, but I ran into Blaine's parents, and they wanted to catch up."

"Oh?" Kurt raises an eyebrow. "They finally getting that research out of you?"

Burt laughs, and wipes his mouth on a napkin. "That depends on Marley's requests."

"Demands, more like."

"Yeah, well—she's good. When you're good you can make demands, within reason, eh?"

"We've met several times now," Kurt says, nodding. "She is good. She still won't let me inside the drawing room, though."

"Good," Burt scoffs. "You have to earn that."

"That's what she said. You know, if she weren't already married I'd have given match-making a thought. Some times she reminds me so much of you that it's eerie." At that, he gets a look from Carole, and rushes to add, "And of course—of course, Carole, sorry. I don't mean to keep forgetting, it's just—new. Sorry."

Burt gives him a look; he can't help but feel chastised.

Finn helpfully interjects, "Pass the chicken?", which seems to shift the subject.

After they finish their meal, Carole stands. "I'll go get us settled. Finn?" The two of them disappear into the living room.

Burt leads Kurt out onto the back porch, where Sam is waiting.

"Fine looking dog," Burt says, sitting on a chair and giving Sam a brisk, thorough petting while Kurt slips him some dinner scraps.

"He's wonderful company," Kurt says, sitting opposite his dad. "Kept me sane over the Winter."

"That must've been hard. Real hard. Do I need to have a word with someone?"

"Oh, god, no, Dad," Kurt says. "We talked that one to death. No need."

"Well," Burt says, smiling. "That's good, then." He pauses, and then says, "Alright, so let's get to the good part. You waxed pretty poetical in your letters, but—Blaine?"

Kurt's stomach flutters just at the sound of Blaine's name, and he blushes. The evening darkness hides it somewhat, but he knows that it shows in his eyes and the curve of his smile. No matter what he did or said, his dad would still be able to read him like an open book.

"He's wonderful," Kurt says, smiling."He's silly and kind and good at what he does. He respects me and loves me and—we teach each other so many things." He stops, and inhales to brace himself—his hands are warm and his throat is clenched up and his eyes are burning. "There are things that we still need to talk about, but I am so—so in love with him."

Burt stares at him with glassy eyes. His fingers are fidgety in his lap, in the way that lets Kurt know he doesn't quite know what to say. "I'm happy for you," he says, finally, his voice wobbly. "I spent so many years worrying about this whole thing." He works his fingers together, and then stares upward. "Your mom, she had her concerns, but she never lost it the way I did." He pauses again, and then adds, "She would've been so proud of you, son. And she would've loved Blaine."

Kurt isn't quite prepared for how this hits him. One moment he's smiling, and the next he's crying. Burt holds out his arms and, before Kurt can think about how silly it is to still want such a thing at his age, he slides into his dad's lap and lets those comforting arms come around him. Burt strokes his back and hair until he finishes crying.

"I miss her so much," he says. "I miss her every day. I wish—I just wish—"

"I know, Kurt. I know."

They breathe together, quiet and hurting, for a long time, and then Burt moves to sit up. "I'm gonna go make sure Carole and Finn are alright. You good?"

Kurt nods. He wants to be, and for now that's enough. 

Burt kisses his hair. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

He's alone for maybe ten minutes, and ready to go back inside to make sure that the cooling unit is on the right setting, when the back door opens again.

Carole crosses the porch and motions to the chair that Burt had been sitting in. "May I?" She sits and, after a short silence, says, "Your dad and me must be a lot for you to take in, on top of everything else going on here."

He takes a breath. "I am so sorry for what I said before, at dinner. It was insensitive."

She exhales shortly. "I don't want to take her place, Kurt. I really adore your father. And he has been—amazing, with Finn, and giving us an opportunity to join your family business. But I'm not looking to become your mother. I think the one you had was pretty special."

He swallows heavily. He has to admit that he's been holding back, trying to be kind about his dad's relationship with Carole while not feeling entirely on board with it, and maybe that isn't fair.

"I don't want to make this week about me," she continues, "but maybe after we go home, you and I could start writing to each other privately? Every now and then? To get to know each other."

He feels a guilty pang in his chest at her offer. She's being so forgiving and kind, and he would be grateful for the chance to set things right between them.

"I'd like that," he says. "Thank you, Carole." She squeezes his hand, and bids him goodnight.

Burt and Finn had put away the leftovers and done the washing up, so there's nothing left for Kurt to do in the kitchen. He sneaks a slice of poppy seed cake, and sits at the kitchen table to eat it, listening to his family settle down in the next room. He is so glad to have them here.

The days that follow are a whirlwind of activity. 

Kurt takes them for drives and on horseback rides (savoring their surprise at that last) and, as the weather remains in their favor, escorts them to a variety of outdoor Anderson family spots, as well as through the village shops, market stalls, and guild halls.

The morning of his birthday and the move, Kurt is woken up at sunrise by the three of them, bearing a cake with a single candle. They wish him a happy birthday even though he's hardly conscious enough to accept the sentiment. They all sit on his bed and eat the cake for breakfast. 

As a gift, they give him a newly designed Hummel family symbol, fixed to the back of a pin.

"For your sash," Burt explains. "We figured the one you came here with might need an update."

Kurt runs a fingertip over the pin's shiny surface and smiles. "Thank you."

Later that morning, he stands in the empty living room with Sam at his feet. It feels strange to be leaving the cabin, but a large part of him is excited for the move. Just as he had been ready to leave Lima, he is now ready to make the manor his new home.

Burt puts a hand on his shoulder. "Gonna miss it?"

Kurt looks around, and then nods, smiling. "It was my first adult home."

"Call it a hunch," Burt says, squeezing his shoulders, "but I think that the home you're going to share with Blaine will outshine this one by quite a bit."

Kurt laughs. "As hunches go, not a bad one."

"Let's get going, son."

Someone will be along to gather the last few boxes and lock the place up, so all Kurt has to do is climb into his dad's transport and he's off, once again, to start afresh.

 

*

 

The manor is in a bit of an uproar when they arrive—Blaine's parents are seeing to emergencies, Blaine isn't dressed, and David is unavailable. Trent, thankfully, is there to greet them. After escorting Kurt's family into the dining hall for drinks, he asks Kurt for a private word. Kurt is confused when Trent leads him out of the back of the house and into the gardens. He assumes that it has something to do with the move or the party.

That is, until Trent produces a cream-colored envelope and offers it to him with a flourish.

Kurt gives him a curious look, opens the envelope and pulls out the single sheet of paper inside and, when he reads the words _Ten minutes_ drawn in fancy lettering in bright gold ink, the look grows even more curious.

"I'm not following," he says, eyebrows raised.

"It's our birthday gift to you, as it was to Blaine on his. We realize now that it's an optimistic figure—but do try to keep it in mind?"

Kurt's stomach drops, and a flush steals up the back of his neck. "Oh," he breathes, the memory assaulting him. "Where should I—I don't really know the manor the way that he does." To ask for advice on top of the gift seems greedy, but Kurt can't imagine pulling this off by himself.

"That's why we're out here," Trent explains, leading him through the shimmering, translucent, blue-white temperature shields, one after another, garden after garden, until they reach an area that Kurt has never been to before. The gardens here are larger, and situated in complete privacy in relation to the house. They stop in the very last one—it has an orange tree at its center, dozens of flower beds, and there's an ornamental fish pond and a bench at its center.

"This is Anita's private garden," Trent says. "She won't be visiting it today."

Glancing around, Kurt feels his body flood with anticipation. The garden is colorful and quiet and deliciously private—the very picture of a perfect romantic spot. 

"Blaine should be finished getting ready any minute now," Trent says.

"Would you ask him to meet me here, please?"

"Of course, Kurt," Trent says, smiling. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

Alone, he tips his head back and takes a deep, citrus-laced breath. The garden is at its peak of loveliness, the air cool and moist, the ground sweetly pungent, and when Kurt lowers himself onto the stone bench beneath the orange tree, he feels a thrill of contentment rush through his body.

He hopes that Blaine's mother won't mind him taking an orange. He peels the fruit and eats half of its juicy, ripe wedges as he takes in the beauty around him. It's only in doing so that he notices the blanket and pillows spread across the patch of grass that dominates the center of the garden. 

He blushes, licking orange juice from his lips. Trent had certainly gone out of his way.

It only takes about ten minutes before Kurt hears footsteps on the grass, and looks up to see Blaine jogging through the gardens to get to him.

"Kurt?" he calls, laughing. "Oh my god! Trent said that I'd been summoned by my mother." He glances over the flower beds and bushes, over the tree and the burbling pond, and finally at the blanket and pillows laid out on the grass. His cheeks darken. "He said it was urgent."

"It is," Kurt breathes, reaching out to card his fingers through Blaine's loose morning curls. He savors Blaine's sharp intake of breath as he presses their lips together, and then shudders when Blaine's hands coast the length of his back to complete the embrace.

Blaine tastes his lips, once and then again and says, "Happy birthday. Did you steal an orange?"

Kurt laughs against his mouth. "I did. You'll have to come up with an appropriate punishment." It's warm and close between them. Blaine's fingers trace the shape of his waist. "Lie down with me?" 

Blaine draws them down onto the blankets. He presses his lips to the soft, sensitive skin below Kurt's ear. "What would you like, love?"

Kurt almost blurts hysterically _I have choices?_ before tamping down on the urge and letting Blaine kiss down the side of his neck without comment. In lieu of saying something embarrassing, he slides onto his back, elbows-first, and then the rest of the way, letting his head come down on one of the pillows. Blaine follows, until Kurt is fully laid out underneath him on the blanket.

Kurt wraps one hand around the back of Blaine's neck and pulls him down into a kiss. He lies off to Kurt's side, pressing close to allow their mouths to come together in slow sweeps. They kiss until Kurt's skin is glowing with heat and he can't tell the difference between the tastes of their mouths.

When they stop to breathe, he laughs shakily. "You are very good at that."

Blaine traces Kurt's kiss-swollen lips with his fingers. He's trembling. "How will I get through my dreary days, knowing how close you are?" He kisses Kurt again, fingers framing his jaw, and again, letting his tongue drift across the seam of Kurt's mouth. His fingers wander, stroking the side of Kurt's throat, the dip of his collarbone, the rise of his bicep, each touch making Kurt's body grow hotter.

"Blaine," he moans, unsure of what else to say. 

His body is vibrating. He can't think about anything but the path of Blaine's hands and lips. 

The morning light glowing through the dome over the garden is making a halo of Blaine's dark hair, glowing around the shape of his shoulders and torso, shrouding his features.

Blaine presses a leg in between Kurt's knees and leans higher up and over him on his elbows, kissing his jaw and neck, and then all the way down to his clavicle.

"Please," Kurt whimpers, when Blaine's hand finds the inch of naked skin between his ridden up tunic and the waistband of his pants. It doesn't take a single plea more for Blaine to flatten his hand there and higher, tracing the concave shell of Kurt's belly up to the ridges of his ribs.

"Sweetheart, you're shaking," Blaine says, kissing his throat, his earlobes, and his temples.

He doesn't know what to do about the reaction that his body is having. He only knows that he wants more. He wraps a leg around the back of Blaine's knee and pulls until Blaine's body is almost fully on top of his, pressing him down into the blanket. He kisses Blaine, and wraps his arms around Blaine's neck. Blaine drags the leg that Kurt has around his hip higher, hooks it around his waist, and then presses down, rubbing their bodies together.

Kurt gasps, his hips jolting. "B-Blaine—"

"Feel good?" Blaine asks, moving on top of him.

"Oh, god," Kurt moans, pressing their foreheads together. "A little too good."

"Don't worry about that," Blaine says, stroking his hair. "Just kiss me." 

Kissing doesn't distract Kurt completely from the things that are happening down there, but it does prevent those things from escalating.

And, well—they are almost out of time. They stop to breathe again.

Kurt slices the rest of the orange that he'd abandoned earlier and they feed each other the pieces, smiling and kissing and licking sweet sticky juice off of each other's fingers and lips, Blaine's beautiful wide eyes above him, Blaine's slick fingers gently pressing the fruit into his mouth and then withdrawing, teasing Kurt's hungry pink tongue out along with them.

Blaine kisses the corner of his mouth and whispers, "One year from today, we'll be married."

Kurt closes his eyes. He's so happy that he could burst with it, like the juice from the orange that they had shared. He turns his head, and kisses Blaine's smiling mouth. The arousal that had seemed cruel moments ago is once again just a low pulse—kinder, and quieter.

"I love you," he breathes, as Blaine's mouth glides across his jaw. "I love you so much."

Blaine grasps his waist, and rolls them over so that Kurt is on top of him. They begin kissing again, heedless of the time, Kurt straddling his hips and licking the taste of orange from the depths of his mouth. When Kurt sits up again, Blaine slides his hands around his hips. 

"You have a party to get ready for."

"What did you get me?" Kurt asks, grinning.

"Greedy, greedy."

"Very well," Kurt says, stroking Blaine's chest. "You may surprise me."

Blaine grins, arching beneath him. "Mm. I like the look of you up there."

"Just the look?"

"The feel of it isn't bad either," Blaine says, squeezing the thickest part of Kurt's hips.

"Please tell me that this isn't the last time we'll be together like this until we're married."

"Trent and David may be generous, now that we've proven we can behave," Blaine says.

"I suppose we should not push our time limit too far, then," Kurt replies.

After several lingering kisses, Kurt climbs to his feet and gives Blaine a hand up. He laces their hands, and they begin to walk back through the gardens. They part ways at the main staircase.

Once Kurt is dressed—in rich teal and purple, adorned with metal in his ears and his sash with its few pins—he joins his family in the dining hall. 

Blaine is near the door, and intercepts him before he can cross the room, tangling their hands and kissing his cheek. Kurt nuzzles into Blaine's neck, inhaling his scent, and then puts him at arm's length to inspect his bright yellow outfit. Kurt feels like the wildflowers to his sunshine, and loves that even though they hadn't discussed the colors, they have still turned out perfectly side by side.

Blaine slides an arm around his waist and he puts one around Blaine's shoulders, and they walk over to where Blaine's parents are sitting with Kurt's family.

"Finally, the man of the hour," Jon says, raising a glass.

Burt's eyes snap with paternal predictability to Kurt and Blaine's physical proximity to one another. "Well. I see we've made progress."

Blaine's mother snorts into her mug.

Finn's eyes narrow.

Kurt blushes, turning his face into Blaine's neck. "Don't listen to him. He's going to try and intimidate you now."

"He's succeeded," Blaine says, forcing a playful gulp. A gentle riff of laughter runs through the table as they sit down opposite Blaine's parents, hands still joined.

Group conversations take over, and then the meal begins. The courses are interwoven with gift presentations, which Kurt finds overwhelming as well as flattering. 

Blaine's parents give him a patch of earth for a private garden of his own—Blaine's mother winks at him, then, and he knows that she knows exactly where they'd spent the gift of those minutes. 

From Blaine's extended family he receives the gift of a second horse, one that will serve him better for speedy work-related travel as well as professional presentation. From the children of the house he receives the performance of a song of domestic welcome. From the house tailor, Ben, he receives a wardrobe of ceremonial clothing—for work, for celebration, for swimming, and a half dozen other common events—all tailored precisely to his taste and preferences, for all four seasons. From the guilds he receives a variety of tokens designed to please him—instruments, decorative items, fabric, tools, and recipes.

And then Blaine stands, and the room goes quiet.

"One year ago today, Kurt, you were brave enough to uproot your life, literally and figuratively, to grace us with your presence, and to offer me a chance at a lifetime of happiness. You carved out a place for yourself here, and we can't imagine anyone else occupying it." He offers Kurt the paper that he's holding with a smile. "So, in order to make that a bit more official..."

Not really sure what to expect, Kurt unfolds the paper—it's full of very formal language and several wax imprints, most of which blurs in front of Kurt's eyes, but after a moment he realizes that it's the deed to the property that he's been living on for the past year, his cabin included.

The paper goes fuzzy in front of his eyes as they glaze over with tears. One of his only regrets over the course of this move has been the loss of that space as his own.

"Oh," he breathes, his voice unsteady, and stands, sinking into Blaine's arms. "Thank you." He steps back, lifts his gaze to the room and says, again, "Thank you."

Cheers and applause fill the room. 

Jangling with nerves and emotion, Kurt sits back down, clutching Blaine's hand.

"You have no idea what this means to me," he says.

Blaine smiles and leans in to boldly kiss the corner of his mouth. "I think I do."

Dancing follows the meal and gift presentation.

"You know what the best part about this is?" his dad asks, as they take wobbly turns on the dance floor together.

"The food?" Kurt asks, staring at the decimated dessert platter with an eye for seconds.

Burt laughs. "No clue how you're as thin as you are, I swear. But no, not the food." He spins Kurt, then struggles to get him back, and they laugh. "The best part is, you don't need me here at all. You're working—you're really doing it—and Blaine? Blaine is crazy about you."

Kurt smiles. "Thanks. I wish you'd think about retiring here, though. It would be nice to see you more often."

Burt shrugs. "Hey, you never know. Show me how to do that dipping thing again?"

Kurt dances with almost everyone in the room, making sure to pay special attention to the children, most of whom seem very impressed by his dancing skills (which amuses him to no end), and some of whom take the opportunity to announce that one day they hope to marry someone as dashing as he is. Kurt is realizing that, with the right encouragement, children can be rather lovely; if he'd known that they could be such skilled flatterers he might have taken to them sooner.

He explains this to Blaine, who laughs, dipping him and then lifting him back up again with a sneaky kiss to his cheek. "Shall we breed an army of tiny sycophants, love?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt sighs. "Strong ones, so that they can carry things, too. I am beginning to see the appeal of this."

Blaine laughs into his shoulder, and leads them into a dizzying series of turns. "I'm now imagining you with a small entourage of miniaturized versions of us, flocking around you like goslings around a goose, all laden with packages, telling you how good looking you are—"

"I'm so glad that we share this dream," Kurt says with a playful sigh, making them both laugh.

All told, it is a wonderful party. The dancing lasts into the evening, late enough to require that a second round of light food and drinks be served just before Kurt's guests begin to take their leave. 

He stands by the huge wooden doors as they go, hugging and kissing and shaking hands, and trying desperately as he always does to commit names to faces. It's dark outside by the time that these farewells are complete.

One hallway over from where his family has their guest accommodations tonight, Kurt is introduced to his new chambers by Blaine and his parents. The sprawling rooms comprise more space than he'd had at the cabin—though, of course, in a very different configuration.

There's a public antechamber, complete with its own dining area, sitting furniture, and hearth. There's a master bedroom and bathroom, both ten times as luxurious as the ones he'd had in the cabin. There's a dressing room full of mirrors, closets, chests, and wardrobes. There's a retiring room with large windows, comfortable furniture, and ample space for whatever else he might like.

The last thing that he discovers is a room just off of the bedroom that is entirely empty. He can't guess at its purpose. Blaine finds him there, and notices the look on his face.

Cheeks gone pink, he explains, "That's—the nursery."

Kurt lingers in the doorway, taking in the shiny hardwood floor and wide windows. He feels a chill go up his spine as he stares into the empty, echoing space.

Blaine's fingers land on his arm. "Does it upset you? We can have it locked up, if it does."

He smiles briefly. "No, no. Looking at this room, it just feels—very real, all of the sudden."

Blaine's hand squeezes around his.

When they've circled back around to the antechamber again, Anita asks, "Does it satisfy your needs, Kurt? Our ability to change the structure is limited, but re-purposing is always possible."

"It far exceeds them," he replies, smiling. "Thank you both very much."

Trent and David join them shortly after.

David says quietly to Kurt, "Thank goodness. That cabin was driving me mad."

Kurt smiles. "I assume that you are next door?"

"To your right," he confirms, with a heavy look. "And don't you forget it."

"Don't tell Blaine—but I think your rooms are nicer," Trent jokes. Kurt laughs, and hugs him impulsively.

Their chaperones don't stay long. After they've gone, Kurt and Blaine and Blaine's parents relax together, drinking warm milk and chatting. It's well into the night by the time that Blaine's mother mentions retiring, and by then Kurt's ribs are aching from too much laughter.

Blaine's father stares at them fondly and then says, in a measured tone, "I daresay that I have never seen two people more in love."

"Jon," Anita says, "don't start. You'll embarrass them."

"Let us call a fish a fish, eh? I did win that damned bet, after all."

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "Finally! Do I get to hear this story?"

Blaine smiles. "I wouldn't mind hearing it either."

"Trent bet your father that you two wouldn't be able to wait to indulge until marriage. The wager had a sliding scale of weight, according to how long it took you to do the deed, but set the final bar at the one year mark."

Kurt's cheeks go hot. Blaine presses a hand to his face.

"I don't know which is worse," Kurt says dryly, "that we've actually managed to wait, or that your parents are fully appraised of our intimacies."

Blaine laughs, despite himself. "My province for a subject change."

Kurt smirks. "You'll both be happy to know that we still intend to wait."

"Intentions are tricky things," Anita says, smiling. She takes a breath. "Look. That rule is in place for one real reason: to prevent pre-marital pregnancy, so that matters of ruling family inheritance remain legally uncomplicated. As long as that—er—activity—is avoided—"

Blaine groans. "Mother."

His father grins. "I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

His mother grumbles. "I just hate it when he wins. Boasting for weeks on end."

Kurt giggles behind his hand. "Okay. I think it's time for a certain pair of meddling in-laws to get to bed, hm?"

"Attitude," Anita sighs. "But you're right. Blaine, come along."

"Yes, Mother, just give us a moment."

They all rise and walk into the hallway, where Blaine slides his arms around Kurt's shoulders and kisses his cheek. Kurt flattens his palms at the center of Blaine's back to draw him in closer.

"Welcome home again," Blaine murmurs, tightening the embrace.

"Will we have breakfast together tomorrow?"

Blaine nods. "We'll see your family off together. And then—next week, dinner in my rooms?"

"Next week," Kurt repeats, almost giddily. "I love next week."

"And the week after," Blaine says, kissing his cheek again, "and the week after that," another kiss, "and the week after that."

Kurt's heart flutters in his chest. "Good night." He pulls away, only to be drawn in one last time. 

Blaine kisses the tip of his nose. "Happy birthday, love."

 

*

 

Watching his family leave the compound isn't anything like it had been the year before. 

Last year, Kurt had said goodbye to his dad an excited but also terrified young man, who'd had as many doubts and questions as outfits. This year he's a young man who is so much more sure of himself and his place in this world than he had ever imagined he could be. 

Kurt knows that Burt sees this, and that means so much to him; he wants his dad's love and respect almost more than anything.

He watches them drive toward the compound gates, his head on Blaine's shoulder. He feels as if life is settling comfortably back around him in the wake of their departure—as if both he and they are exactly where they belong.

Their small party walks back to the house, where Kurt and Blaine linger in the foyer over their goodbye, smiling at each other, their fingers laced and their bodies pressed together.

"I'm not going far," he says, staring into Blaine's eyes. "I love that I'm not going far."

"You may love it less when you see your schedule," Blaine says, smiling impishly.

He smiles back, rubbing their noses together. "It'll keep me occupied. David intends to wake me at dawn, I'm sure."

"Don't forget to remind him about the selection of your second," Blaine reminds him, stroking the backs of his hands as they hold on, unwilling to let go of each other. "It will be much easier if they train with you from the start."

"I think I may already have my eye on someone," he says. "Gregory has brought his niece with him to several of our meetings now, and she is brilliant—but David has someone else in mind."

"Talk to her," Blaine says. "She must be interested in what you do if she's tagging along. Remember—the decision is yours, not David's. You mustn't worry about offending him. He is like family, but he is still your employee when you are on the job."

"Blaine, the village crowd is already out the door," Trent calls, from across the foyer.

"On my way," Blaine says, and then brings Kurt's hands to his lips to kiss them. "Until next time."

"Until next time."

 

*

 

The moment that they separate, Kurt is swept off by David to his rooms to change into his work clothes: floor-length robes, his professional sash, and a bag that is designed to carry writing implements, all in subdued shades of Summer colors.

His first meeting is with the work placement board, and it lasts for four hours. 

He is grilled from start to finish, in an exacting but not cruel way. He's been working on the project since its inception, so he's confident, and between David, Gregory, and his niece, Anna, he manages to avoid most missteps.

The changes are going over well. Most of the meeting is dedicated to discussing the details of their recruits, village by village, and agreeing on their wages, benefits, time off, and housing. All Kurt has to do is sign off on each decision, and at the end of the meeting they ask him what he needs from them to keep things moving along, and he tells them.

David then takes him to meeting with Marley's assistant, and essentially the same thing happens, only this time it's training manuals, rearranging living quarters for the research assistants, and a broad overview of the reporting structure of the mechanical and engineering programs.

When they break at midday, Anna follows him into the dining hall for lunch.

He isn't surprised when the first thing she says is, "Mr. Hummel, I would like to request permission to interview for the position of your second."

He puts a glass of water down in front of her with a smile. "Anna, you've been here longer than I have; let's not overdo the formality."

She goes very still, and nods stiffly. "Yes, sir."

"Call me Kurt. How long have you been training under your uncle?"

"Two years, Kurt. Since I graduated from the training program."

"Specifically for general overseeing?"

"Yes. In all the major industries and several minors."

"Can I ask why?" She tilts her head, so he clarifies, "Why overseeing? There are so few positions in that area."

"I know that it's unpopular," she concedes, her expression softening. "I like the idea of moving around, of being cross-trained. And I enjoy being involved in decision making."

"It's a high stress environment."

"That's why you need me," she says. "Seconds are a new idea to the Andersons, but think about how useful it would be for you to have one before you even put on the pin of co-leader. You'll hit the ground running, with a well-trained second at your side. I want to be that person. I can and will be that person, if you allow me the training."

He likes her, and she continues to impress him.

He nods thoughtfully, and motions to her bag. "Give me your papers. I'll read them over, and in the meantime you can continue to do what you've already been doing. Keep up the good work."

Kurt finds out that David has indeed made overtures to Luhae—his half-brother—about the position without consulting him. To be fair, he agrees to interview Luhae, but the conversation that they have doesn't satisfy him. He is convinced that Anna will do a better job—she has the appropriate training, the drive, and the right personality, whereas Luhae's main boasts have more to do with unrelated schoolwork accomplishments. His temperament is wrong for the job, and there is also a hint of nepotism to his application that Kurt wants nothing to do with.

Telling David this does not go over well, but Kurt recalls what Blaine had said, and remains firm.

Kurt's instincts about Anna prove true. She knows exactly when to be there and when not to be. She absorbs the details of every program that Kurt oversees like a sponge absorbs water. She knows when to interject and when to listen. Most importantly, she has both compassion and intelligence, and knows how to apply them to the work that they do in professional measures.

Even with her help, though, Kurt struggles to keep up.

His first dinner date with Blaine is a disaster; he all but falls asleep in the middle of dessert. He wakes to the sound of Blaine's affectionate laughter against his ear, and groans, "Oh, I'm sorry."

"My busy working man," Blaine says, kissing the curve of his ear.

"You were telling me about your meeting with the Sea Traders. I was listening, I just—"

"Is it weird, how much I love watching you sleep?" Blaine asks, stroking his cheek. "Your face goes so soft, its little lines—" He presses in between Kurt's eyebrows, and then at the corners of his eyes. "—just fade away. And your lips—" He smiles, dragging the pad of his thumb around the shape of Kurt's mouth. "They relax so prettily."

Blushing, Kurt tips his cheek into Blaine's hand. "Being near you makes me feel a thousand times better, but the down side to that is I am then far too relaxed."

"I find that I have the exact opposite problem," Blaine says, feeding him a slice of broiled chicken, slowly so that he can lick at his fingers. "I'm usually up half the night after we say goodbye."

"I wonder what that says about us, hm?" Kurt asks, mouthing at Blaine's fingertips.

"One of us will always be tired?"

Kurt laughs, reaching for another bite. "Very true."

There is a pause, and then Blaine says, "You did the right thing, with Anna. You really did."

"David is angry with me."

"David is a good man, but he overstepped his professional boundaries—and he made a mistake in thinking that Luhae was a shoe-in for the job. He should have apologized for that, and accepted your decision to take on Anna gracefully, but he hasn't even done that. You shouldn't have to worry about please him, Kurt. I'll ask Trent to speak with him."

Kurt agrees. Normally, he would prefer to handle the matter himself—but these men have known each other all of their lives, and sometimes it is smarter to yield to familiarity.

They set the uncomfortable topic aside. Kurt relaxes in Blaine's arms as they finish their meal, and then follows dessert with a glass of wine that relaxes him even further.

"I want to kiss you," he whispers in Blaine's ear. "So badly."

"Two weeks is too long," Blaine says, holding him closer.

"The stone for my garden is being delivered soon," Kurt says, lacing their fingers. "Would you like that to be our next date? We could—arrive early? Plan out the rest of the garden together?"

Blaine grins against his temple. "Arrive early, you say?"

"If you can manage it," Kurt says, kissing the side of his Blaine's hand. 

"Until next time, then," Blaine says.

"Until next time."


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine's workload lightens considerably when Kurt moves into the manor and takes on his new work responsibilities, but the change is a mixed blessing.

He suddenly finds the time to take regular meals, to nap, and to play the piano and sing. He drinks wine, catches up with old friends, takes day trips with his parents, and manages to see to things that he has neglected for too long—his wardrobe, his grooming, and his personal effects.

On the other hand, he has trouble concentrating, knowing that Kurt is underfoot. It's like the hint of an attractive shadow constantly shifting in the corner of his eye—and there are only so many ways that he has to satisfy his longing for Kurt, who is so close and yet still so far away.

One evening, he manages to lure Trent away from his father long enough to get him a bit drunk.

"Don't you have someone more important to entertain?" he asks, after his third mug.

"You wound me. What friend is more important to me than you?"

"No, I wound me," Trent replies, jabbing a finger at him. "This is what happens when busy people find time—they are suddenly and unbearably gregarious again."

Blaine smiles. "Admit it; you're bored, too."

"Your parents keep me busy enough."

After another round, Blaine asks, "How is Kurt doing? Be honest. As a manager, as a leader—how is he?"

"It takes a lot for you to not speak as a lover, doesn't it?"

"Strictly speaking, we aren't lovers yet."

Trent smiles, rolls his eyes, and then says, "He is young. It shows when he thinks that it doesn't—in caution, in quiet, in idealism. But he's smart. He has the dedication that overseeing requires, but he also has a co-leader's compassion. More often than not, his decisions are good. His bearing is excellent. He just needs to prove himself, and they'll adore him."

Blaine exhales. "Is he happy doing the work?"

"Would he have gone into leadership otherwise? I don't know. But he is thriving. He seems healthy and content. The staff are fond of him."

"No complaints so far?"

"Some grumbling over having to clean up after his dog. Some tittering over stains on the sheets."

Blaine's cheeks go warm from a combination of second-hand embarrassment and interest. "Oh, no."

"They'll gossip until they know him, and then they'll defend him until they turn blue. Don't worry."

"I just want him to feel welcome."

"He does, for the most part. As for the rest—give it time." When the food and ale are gone, he reaches over and takes Trent's hand, as they have done since they were children. Trent's fingers tighten around his. "Is it time for the sentimental babbling? I'm ready. Go ahead."

"Well, now that's ruined." Blaine laughs. "No, but truly; I am just very pleased. I love him so much, Trent. And you've been wonderful. David hasn't fared quite as well."

Trent sighs. "He is overworked and lonely. It shows."

"Yes, but he's been those things before and never acted out," Blaine says, worry evident in his tone. "Trying to get his half-brother the job as Kurt's second without consulting him was his first open act of rebellion, but he's been moody ever since Kurt arrived."

"He did hate living out in that cabin."

"If I'd sent you out there, you would have gone with a smile," Blaine insists. "We may need to have another talk with him. But let's allow Anna to settle as Kurt's second, and see if the decline in responsibility doesn't allow David to find good humor again."

"Very well."

Blaine closes his eyes. "When I was younger, my mother used to say that we have moments as we grow older, when we reach a certain threshold and think, 'Here is the next stage of my life. I can see a fair distance ahead and I know how I am going to cross it.' I didn't have one of those moments until I laid eyes on Kurt for the first time. I saw him and everything that I was, everything that I wanted to be, came to life in front of my eyes like a painting in three dimensions, full of the sort of beauty so bold that blinds." Trent's hand shakes in his.

"It must be wonderful," he says, his eyes shining, "to feel such a thing."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"I am happy for you; don't be an ass about it."

Blaine laughs. "In that case: thank you, my friend."

 

*

 

Kurt had begun with the simple idea that his mom's horticulture journals would be a great help in developing his garden. There are so many flowers and plants that she had loved that he can't imagine doing without. He wants red and yellow roses and wildflowers. He wants to grow fruit; oranges and raspberries and pears. He wants a reflecting pool filled with decorative rock and glass. He wants statues and moss and creeping vines.

This search had led him to the withdrawal of many packets of gardening papers from the Anderson library. Blaine's father had then offered several more papers from his own private collection, and then the word had got out. Before Kurt could control the spread of it, everyone had begun offering advice or written information. Among the pile that he has amassed he even has a few ancient texts, their smooth pages shining white from beneath the preservation gel.

He's not sure where to start, and he's having difficulty concentrating. He's in his pajamas sitting on the new grass that lies at the center of his empty garden plot, his belly is full of breakfast, it's a beautiful Summer morning, and Blaine is due at any moment. 

He sits back on his hands and stares up at the winking sheen of the temperature shield above and around him, which is keeping the garden at a cooler temperature than the outside air. He fills his lungs and then exhales in profound satisfaction. 

Aside from patches of grass, the garden is just soil—all the same uniform brown, not yet converted to whichever type will be needed to grow what he wants—and a few pieces of stone, two benches and one statue, which haven't been moved from where they had been put down upon delivery. The depression where the pond will go is covered by a tarp.

Still, it feels like his already, and he is very pleased to have it.

He's drawn out of this contemplation by the sound of footsteps, and looks up just in time to see Blaine in pale green pajamas—sleeveless top and loose, flowing pants—trotting from garden to garden to get to him, their temperature shields rippling as he breaks through them. Kurt stands, hopping over the piles of paper all around him, and meets Blaine at the edge of his garden.

Before he can even think of saying hello, his arms are sliding around Blaine's neck and Blaine's arms are wrapping around his waist. Their mouths collide. He makes a noise into the kiss when Blaine's hands find his hips. 

They stop to breathe after several kisses, their heads tilted and their mouths damp and tingling. Kurt opens his eyes. Blaine's hands slide his lower back and stop above the swell of his buttocks, his fingertips sliding in between Kurt's pajama top and bottom to find skin.

"Two guesses as to what state I awoke in this morning," Blaine says.

"I don't need two guesses," Kurt replies, and drags their mouths back together. 

They stumble backwards into one of the stone benches and sit down onto its cool surface, Blaine using his hold on the backs of Kurt's thighs to bring him closer. He kisses down Kurt's neck all the way to his collarbone, where his pajama top is gaping open. Kurt straddles his lap.

"How much longer before Trent comes looking?" Kurt asks, panting.

Blaine sucks Kurt's tongue in between his lips. "Not long. David wasn't available, so he won't hesitate to rush when he realizes that I'm not coming for him."

Kurt laughs. "Oh, he'll be angry."

"He's been angry at me for much less important things," Blaine says, and kisses him again.

"Your parents gave me this garden knowing full well what we'd do with it, didn't they?"

"Yes, they did," Blaine says, amused. "It's common knowledge that the family gardens are as much for privacy as they are for aesthetic pleasure."

"Do they intend to sabotage all of our efforts?" Kurt asks. 

He kisses Blaine's jaw from tip to hinge, where he teases Blaine's ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and biting it once before suckling at it to soothe the sting.

Blaine's hisses in a breath. "God, Kurt."

Kurt shimmies his fingers up and under Blaine's tight pajama top, thumbing his belly and ribs. He bites down on the spot where Blaine's neck and shoulder meet, feeling the dense muscle give beneath his teeth and Blaine's chest heave in surprise. He works the shirt all the way up Blaine's torso, not stopping until he feels Blaine's nipples bead up underneath his fingers. He closes his mouth around a patch of skin low on Blaine's throat and sucks. When he pulls off, he sees that he has left a red mouth-shaped bruise behind.

"Oh," Blaine moans, shaking.

He can't help the smile that tugs his mouth wide. "Too much?"

Blaine rocks up, rutting their bodies together. "Not enough."

Kurt kisses him hungrily, and somewhat in vain, as they can hear footsteps on the grass.

"Are you decent?" Trent shouts, sounding both annoyed and amused.

Kurt uses Blaine's neck to stifle the noise of his laughter.

 

*

 

Jon's retiring room is small, and even as well-ventilated as it seems to be it still smells strongly of chemicals. Kurt thinks that maybe Jon dabbles in science as a hobby, until he notices the easels and the paint pots and the blank canvases.

"Oh," he says, walking deeper into the room. "This is amazing." 

The room is a corner room, and both of its outward facing walls are floor-to-ceiling windows dressed with heavy drapes. Every surface is smeared with paint to some degree, and the floors are half unfinished wood and half tarp.

"I thought that you might like it," Jon says, motioning for him to sit on a couch that looks to be made entirely of drop cloth.

"I had no idea that you painted."

"It is wonderfully relaxing," Jon says, pointing to his latest, which looks like a landscape. "The room grows a bit uncomfortable in Summer, what with the glass, but the mornings are manageable, and in Winter if I bundle up it's the same. We can't heat or cool the room—it messes with the paint, you know."

There's a stack of papers to Jon's right, and after they finish their iced tea he reaches for them, sets them on his crossed legs, and smiles at Kurt.

"It's been a couple of months," he says. "I think we ought to make some decisions."

Kurt's pulse flutters. "Decisions?"

"Anita and I both agree that it's time for you to officially begin taking direct reports from Blaine—and by extension, of course, from us. You've been doing the job for some time now. This—" He lifts the papers. "—just makes it a legally binding work contract."

He'd known that this was coming, but seeing the ink on the paper and the wax seals in all of their bright, yellow glory makes his stomach twist into knots. 

"Of course," he says. His voice is unsteady, but it doesn't break.

Jon passes him the papers.

Each page is an industry-specific contract. 

Kurt's name is at the top—below his is Anna's, and below Anna's the names of the people who Kurt has been relying on for administrative and labor support. There is a contract for overseeing the engineering industry, the scientific research industry (not all branches, but the ones related to re-purposed tech), and the work placement program. 

The papers shake in his hands. Kurt sets them on his lap, wets his mouth, and tries to think.

It's all here—his future spelled out in so much formal language—and even though he's been preparing himself for this, he still feels overwhelmed.

When he remains silent, Jon continues, "Of course, for some years to come, the final approval of all of your binding decisions will be made by Anita and myself. If we see something troublesome, we'll speak to you privately. Only experience can teach you everything, and experience takes time."

Kurt thinks about the sheds. He thinks about the labs. He thinks about roads and maintenance and travel efficiency. He thinks about the organizational structures of the industries. 

He thinks about making people's lives easier, and therefore happier.

"What does this leave Blaine with?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"Agriculture. Livestock. Medicine. Mining. Food procurement and distribution. Land development. Most of the micro-industries. He will also continue to be the point of contact, along with Anita, for our inter-provincial relations, until you have had a chance to get to know those representatives—that can be tricky, and obviously carries far greater weight and consequence."

Kurt nods, and wipes his sweaty palms off on his pants.

"It's a lot all at once, I know," Jon says, reaching over to pat his forearm. "Take a deep breath." He smiles. "You'll hardly notice a change—you will simply continue to do what you've been doing."

"I'll need some time to read this through," he says.

"Of course," Jon says, and releases him. 

He finds Anna waiting for him outside of his rooms after the meeting. He takes her by the hand, leads her inside, closes the door behind them, drops the papers onto the table, falls into a chair, puts his head in his hands and groans, "Alcohol."

She tilts her head. "It's noon. Also the middle of the work week?"

"Alcohol," he says, into the crook of his elbow.

"Well, I can see how the rest of this working relationship is going to go," she drawls. 

Kurt knocks back a glass of wine like a shot.

She takes a look at the papers that he'd set down and lets out a hum of understanding.

"Right then," she says, and refills his glass, which he drinks slower—but in this case slower is a chug, and it's empty moments later. She fills it a third time. "I cleared your schedule, because of the meeting with Jon. So go for it."

He savors the creeping numbness of the wine. "I'm going to read it word for word, just not today. Can you take a look? We should both know what's in there."

She takes a second glance, and he realizes that she must have not noticed her name the first time. Her eyes go wide, and her hands twitch. "This is the final copy?"

He smiles, and with an unsteady hand pours her a glass, too. "It's yours if you want it."

"Of course I want it," she says. "Thank you, Kurt."

"Send for some lunch? Extra dessert, too. We should celebrate, don't you think?"

By late afternoon they are both drunk as skunks, dancing to Anna's little brother playing the flute. Kurt feels unstrung and irresponsible and brilliant.

"I'm going to fall over," Anna announces, and flops back onto the couch.

Kurt sprawls next to her. "Oh," he says, frowning, "it's wearing off."

"We should probably stop drinking."

"Or continue drinking."

"No," she moans. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

"Why isn't Blaine here?" Kurt slurs. "Blaine should be here, Anna, he should be drunk with me. He should be with me all the time, all the time—courtship is stupid. So stupid."

"Oh, here we go."

Kurt swats her with a pillow. "You are mean. I'm going to find Blaine."

"No, you're not," she says, dragging him back down when he tries to stand. "David is right outside of the door and has been all evening and you know it."

"Boo. Boo, hiss, David. He is not my friend. Boo!"

Anna drags a blanket over his lap, and puts the pillow that he'd used to attack her behind his head, arranging him upright on the couch. "Go to sleep so that I can eat the rest of your cake."

"Cake," he moans, and promptly falls into a wine-induced slumber.

 

*

 

Blaine hadn't imagined that they would end up discussing Kurt's work contract on horseback, but they have village governors to meet and little time for themselves on this date and so, halfway between the meeting lodge and the manor, they do just that.

Kurt's main concern seems to be whether or not he is on board with the changes.

"I helped draw up the papers, love," he says, smiling. "Why would I not be?"

There's a pause, and then Kurt says sarcastically, "I was hoping to draw out the negotiations. Put off signing on the dotted line a little longer."

Blaine laughs, staring at Kurt with his heart in his eyes. "You're more than ready."

Kurt smiles. "That's what they keep telling me." He shrugs. "I wanted to be sure. I want us to make these decisions together."

"I do, too," Blaine says. "But you're already doing the job. You should be proud of how far you've come." Kurt goes pink beneath his collar, and then puffs up a bit. Blaine smiles. "That's better."

The meeting lodge is a large rectangular cabin, built for the purpose of having a meeting place that is roughly equidistant between the villages and the compound. Blaine doesn't use it often, but it's perfect for the occasion of introducing Kurt to the governors today. 

The building and its property are teaming with people by the time that they arrive. Trent and David begin herding everyone inside where it's cool and lunch has been laid out. 

After he and Kurt sit at the head of the table, the governors and their assistants do the same, and there's a moment of silence. Aside from the governor from his own village, Kurt has not met anyone present. Blaine knows that he has done his homework, but can see that he's still nervous. He takes Kurt's hand beneath the table and gives it a squeeze.

He stands, stares down at the table somberly, and then says, "As if I'd make you all listen to me before you stuffed your faces. Go on." 

The table erupts into laughter, and Blaine can feel Kurt relax beside him.

There are a total of six villages represented at the table, each a branch of the descended line of a family that had managed to thrive after leaving the overcrowded Anderson compound some four hundred years ago. These families had been granted a tract of land within Westerville's borders, for the purpose of resettlement—out of the dozen or so who had taken the risk, eight had survived the initial exodus, and six have survived to the present day.

After everyone has eaten, Blaine stands again.

"Before we address your concerns today, I'm happy to be able to formally introduce to you your future co-leader and my future husband, Kurt Hummel, who, as of this week, has begun overseeing the mechanical and engineering interests on the compound, as well as that work placement program you're all so fond of—" Soft laughter up and down the table, and then Blaine smiles and says, "Kurt?"

"Hello, everyone," Kurt says, waving and standing. He finds Lima's governor at the table, smiles and says, "I see that Katherine is here. I'm not sure that I should even bother putting on a professional face—she's probably already convinced you all of what a dunderhead I am." 

Everyone laughs again, and Katherine shakes her fist up at Kurt. "Oh, shut it, Hummel. I've known you since you were in diapers."

"See? There you have it. Well, I'll do my best to dazzle you all despite this misrepresentation." More laughter, and then the congregation grows serious again. "It hasn't always been easy, has it?" Soft muttering. Kurt looks at each governor in turn. "My name on a work contract isn't a guarantee of anything, it's true. The fact that Burt Hummel raised me is, perhaps, better currency—but it isn't a promise either. I suppose the truth is—there is no such thing as a guarantee in our world. All we've got at the end of the day are sharp minds, strong hands, and the will to persevere. This is something that I was born knowing, and raised to understand. It also happens to be the one reality that the Andersons have recognized better than any other. Our union is a natural one, I feel, because of that." He looks down at Blaine, and takes the hand that he offers with a smile. "I hope you'll celebrate it with us."

There is dead silence in the room.

Blaine sees, without the filter of love, and possibly for the first time, the man that Kurt Hummel is growing up to be, and he can't breathe for the awe that he feels. He's terrified for a moment that the governors will grumble or roll their eyes—but then Katherine begins banging on the table, and the man next to her joins in, and the woman next to him, and before long the room is filled with the noise of fists and cups and silverware drumming on the wooden table.

Blaine swallows thickly, blinks the wet from his eyes before it spills, and stands, rapping on the tabletop louder than any of them.

Kurt goes red, but he doesn't waver. He waits for the noise to fade and, though he has Blaine's hand in a death grip and is shaking, sits without any outward indication of it. 

Blaine whispers in his ear, joking, "There was a line in that contract about you making all of the speeches from now on as well, yes?"

Kurt's shoulders go loose with amusement, and he bites his lip to stop from laughing.

Blaine begins his rounds of the table by Kurt's side, taking both written and verbal requests and complaints from each governor. It mostly boils down to material needs, but there are a few boundary disputes, as well—all run of the mill village issues.

He can't help but notice how eager the governors are to interact with Kurt. They practically line up to do so, and Katherine is all at once the most popular person in the room. He hangs back as often as he can to allow Kurt to have the spotlight. It's a relief to see him so well-received.

By the time that the light begins to fade and the horses are brought around, they are both hoarse from talking, and Kurt looks fit to drop. They stop on the porch of the cabin and have a quiet moment together, Blaine leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

"Holding up?"

"I'm going to fall asleep on my horse," Kurt murmurs.

"Ride with me, then?"

"Oh, yes, please."

Blaine waits until they've escaped the dust of a dozen horses leaving the meeting lodge with Kurt wobbling sleepily against his chest to say something.

"With me, love?"

"Mm," Kurt hums, rubbing his cheek against Blaine's tunic.

"You were incredible today," he whispers.

Kurt falls asleep in his arms, still smiling. 

 

*

 

Burt and Carole's wedding is set to take place at the end of Summer.

Kurt, who had wanted to take charge of the event, simply hasn't had the time. He tries to convince his dad to wait until Spring so that he can have more of a hand in it, but Burt is adamant that they have a simple village wedding before Winter, and he doesn't want Kurt's attention on the wedding instead of his work.

This doesn't stop Kurt from insisting on being involved in some way; they go back and forth in letters, both between the two of them and between Carole and Kurt—who have been getting along much better since Kurt's birthday—and Burt agrees, eventually, to two things: one, that Kurt be allowed to design and have Ben sew Carole's wedding robes and two, that the Anderson family cater the event from soup to nuts.

Kurt focuses on the robe design while Blaine sees to the menu and, between the two of them—and a few sneaky flower orders—they manage to plan almost the entire wedding without actually, technically planning almost the entire wedding. They giggle together like disobedient children over it, because they know that Burt is going to huff and puff and then thank them anyway.

"He invited us," Blaine says, grinning. "As if he didn't know."

"I agree one thousand percent," Kurt replies, as they debate cake fillings.

Kurt is a force to be reckoned with in the days leading up to his departure. He's surprised that Anna doesn't quit—he's overbearing and snippy, until he breaks under the stress of leaving his work behind for the first time and becomes a whole new kind of mess for her to deal with.

"Everything will be fine," she says.

"But what if—"

"Everything will be _fine_ ," she repeats. "You can't always be here. That's why you took me on."

"I know, I know," he says, sighing. 

"You've only repacked your clothes twice," she reminds him.

He stares off into space. "Oh, god, you're right. What's wrong with me?"

He doesn't notice her giggling at him because he's too busy unpacking his bag.

He spends so much time worrying about work that he forgets to worry about going home for the first time in over a year, until they pull up onto his family's property and nothing looks the same.

He'd been told in letters, of course, that they've been rebuilding. There are new sheds instead of forest to the west of the house. The house itself has two new extensions, and the workers' cabins are no longer just cabins but full houses. Everything is bigger and newer. 

Kurt doesn't know how to feel about the lack of familiar sights.

Kurt, Blaine, Trent, and two of Blaine's cousin—who had been recruited to help with the party—climb out of the transport, and Burt rushes outside to greet them.

"It's so good to see you," his dad says, after he hugs everyone. "Tell me that you've got Carole's outfit because she is freaking out about it."

"From here on in, you are officially not allowed to worry about another thing," Kurt announces. "The food will be delivered tomorrow morning along with the flowers—and yes I know that you've already decorated the shed; I asked Carole and she gave me the color scheme, so everything will match."

"That was my number one concern, of course," Burt says, smirking.

Kurt grumbles. "Carole's robes are in the transport. Show me the shed?"

"I'll help Trent and the boys empty the transport," Blaine says, kissing Kurt's cheek.

Kurt and his dad visit the decorated shed.

The exposed beams overhead are clean, as are the walls, which have been draped in pale cloth. There are blue ribbons and white silk hangings all around the room. There is a raised platform at the front of the shed with a table on it that has their family's symbol burned into its wooden lip.

The setup reminds Kurt of the descriptions he'd been given of his mom and dad's wedding, and before he can even explain the mist over his eyes, Burt has noticed it. 

"You okay?" his dad asks. "You don't have to be."

He shudders out a breath. "I'm happy for you. It's just hard to see all of this and not think of her."

"I know," Burt says, walking in a slow loop around the room. "I like to think that she would've wanted this for me. That was the kind of person she was."

Kurt understands what his dad is saying, but he still feels brittle. 

Inside of the house, Blaine seems to know that Kurt needs him before they even make eye contact; he reaches for Kurt's waist and gently pulls him close as soon as he walks in the door.

Finn is still working on the other side of the village, so they find Carole alone in the kitchen.

"Oh, Kurt," she squeals, "it's the most beautiful robe that I've ever seen. I can't even begin to thank you."

"I'll make sure to tell Ben how much you liked it; he did most of the work."

They sit down to eat.

"Do I get a full tour of the place after dinner?" Blaine asks him.

"That sounds almost mischievous."

"I am especially interested in your old bedroom."

Kurt laughs. "My dad turned it into a retiring room. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, plans," Blaine sighs, feigning disappointment. 

The meal is delicious, and a wonderful distraction for Kurt—it's the home-cooked, simple village fare that he has missed living on the compound, heavy on root vegetables and broiled meats. When he finds out that there's milk cake for dessert he almost embarrasses himself, eating three slices more than he should as Carole continues to offer additional helpings.

Kurt can see how happy and excited his dad and Carole are, and even though he's a little sad, he finds it impossible to wallow in his grief in the face of their joy.

At the end of the meal, Blaine asks, visibly excited, "Can we give them the gifts now? Please?"

Finn walks in then, and that conversation is detoured into enthusiastic embraces, and then hilarious silence as they all watch Finn consume leftovers with comical levels of gusto.

"Gifts?" Blaine reminds Kurt.

"Well? Do you want them now?" he asks his dad and Carole.

Carole bounces in her chair. "Yes!"

Burt smiles and nods, and Kurt nods to Blaine, who rushes off to the guest room where their things have been stored, and comes back balancing a paper case and a small box.

Burt opens his first, and because it's papers Kurt has to wait for him to get the gist of it. When he does, his eyes go wide.

"This is insane," he breathes, staring at them. "Materials at cost?"

"We wanted it to benefit you as well as the village," Blaine says, beaming.

Carole's eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Burt."

Kurt had been surprised at the grandness of the gesture—a re-work of the Anderson's contract with the Hummels, promising to sell them the materials that they buy through the compound at the same cost that the Andersons pay for them through import, to remain binding for as long as the Hummel family survives in Lima, and then to pass to whoever holds the governor's seat then after, so that the village can continue to benefit from it indefinitely.

"Thank you," Burt says, his eyes glazed over. "This is—it means the world to us, Blaine. Kurt."

Blaine grabs Kurt's hand under the table and squeezes it. Kurt squeezes back. "You're very welcome."

"Well," Burt says, nudging Carole. "Your turn."

Inside the box that she opens is a beautiful necklace and earring set made of precious gems and metals that matches her wedding robes to the last detail. 

She begins laughing and crying at the same time, clutching the box. "Boys, this is too much."

"Nonsense," Kurt says, beaming. "You both deserve that and more."

Despite the sentiment, Kurt is completely aware of the fact that both of these gifts are not humble in nature—they are Anderson offerings, and they come directly from Kurt and Blaine. 

He doesn't miss the way that Burt looks at him after Carole tucks her jewelry away—there's an acknowledgment in his dad's eyes that makes him feel both proud and unsettled. He isn't a boy anymore. He's a member of the ruling family now, and it shows.

Finn, who has been busy making sure that there are no leftovers remaining to be put away, lets out a long, audible breath, and then says, "It's good to have them for in-laws, huh?"

The tension at the table—whatever there is left of it—breaks at that, and everyone laughs.

Blaine's hand shifts from Kurt's hand to his knee, where it settles comfortably.

"Too much?" he whispers in Kurt's ear.

"Maybe a little," Kurt replies, "but I think we did the right thing."

 

*

 

Blaine wakes up in the middle of the night, three rooms away from Kurt, and decides to attempt a sneaky visit. At worst, he thinks, he'll be caught by Trent and sent back to his bed.

He makes the mistake of not factoring Burt Hummel into that assessment. 

Kurt's father finds him creeping down the hallway and, before he can make an excuse, he's being led out onto the front porch of the cabin.

"Was it you or your parents, the contract revision?" Burt asks him, after a pause.

"It was from all of us, Kurt included," he answers.

"I didn't want to embarrass Kurt," Burt says, looking at him intently, "but you'll never know how grateful I am. That revision will make a huge difference for our village, and knowing that that's important to you means even more to me."

Blaine reaches out to take Burt's hand impulsively. "It's our pleasure."

Burt squeezes his hand. "You're a good man, Blaine." He smiles, and then adds, "But don't think that I don't know exactly where you were headed just now."

Blaine blushes appropriately, and looks down. "My apologies."

"You two find ways around your chaperones often?" Burt asks, looking concerned.

Blaine knows what he's really asking. "We haven't had sex, Burt. We decided to wait until we're married."

Burt's face twists up in embarrassment. "Kurt is completely innocent. You do know that, right? He doesn't even know what his—he doesn't understand his bodily functions when it comes to sex. As far as I know, he's never even taken care of business on his own."

"I know," Blaine gently interrupts. "We've talked about it." He hesitates, and then blurts, "Even after we're married, whatever we do will be at his discretion. I promise you."

Burt shifts on his feet, and keeps looking at Blaine sideways, but he does manage a laugh and to say, "Eh, dunno why I'm giving you so much crap; I see the way you two look at each other."

Blaine smiles. "I love and respect Kurt more than I can say. I just want to make him happy."

Burt claps him on the shoulder. "That's the best wedding gift you could've ever given me, son."

 

*

 

The morning of the wedding, Burt sends Kurt and Blaine from the house with orders not to show themselves until the ceremony. Kurt has been hovering ever since the food was delivered, fussing over the details, and it turns out that Blaine is just as interested in micro-managing; he had begun to re-do the seating arrangements from scratch while Kurt had made yes, no, or maybe noises with wild flourishes of his hands. 

Trent is shoved after them, a half-eaten cookie in his hand, looking rather put out.

They walk deeper into the forest behind the house, swinging their laced hands.

"I don't know," Blaine says, "I thought your point about the beef skewers was valid."

"I thought so, too," Kurt complains. "And you were absolutely right about not sitting Katherine next to Baxter—that's going to end in a fight, and no mistake."

"Our genius simply does not receive the respect that it deserves, love," Blaine sighs, his lips curled into a playful smile.

Kurt looks up, and realizes where they are. He motions to a tree to their right, which has a distinctive, deep gouge in the bark. "This is the spot where my mother always used to say that we'd escaped 'the smell'. Far enough away from the sheds in her opinion, I guess."

"Oh. That's beautiful."

Kurt smiles, putting his arms around Blaine's waist. "It's wonderful having you here. I hope that you aren't too bored?"

"Are you kidding?" Blaine asks, eyes widening. "This is a wonderful retreat. I swear I've had none better."

"It's nothing like compound life, that's for sure."

"It's beautiful here. And there this whole other side of you that comes out when you're with your family. I love seeing it."

They walk for a time in silence, and then Kurt stops them in a small clearing.

"I used to sit in this spot for hours when I was little, imagining what you would be like," he confesses against the warm curve of Blaine's ear.

He can feel Blaine smile against his jaw. "And what did you imagine?"

"What you'd look like. Sound like. What you liked to eat for breakfast. How tall you'd be." 

Sunlight is shining around them like a halo, and Kurt pulls away from Blaine just to look at him. 

He is quite possibly the loveliest thing that has ever been in this clearing, with his thick curls and his hazel eyes shot through with gold—without a doubt, he is leagues better than any fantasy that Kurt's younger self had managed to dream up. He is real and honest and flawed and sometimes too much, so different than himself that Kurt often has trouble sorting out how they fit so well together. Then again—maybe that's precisely why they do.

"Where have you gone off to, love?" Blaine asks, stroking his hand.

Kurt feels no need to answer with words, and doesn't care that Trent is watching them. 

He leans in and presses their lips together, neatly swallowing Blaine's puff of breathy surprise.

 

*

 

The collective interest of the village in Kurt and Blaine is palpable from the moment that the festivities begin, but Burt must have spread the word that they are in attendance for family and not business reasons, because they are not approached with requests of any kind. 

The speeches given by the governor, who is officiating the ceremony, and Carole's friends and family are brief and to the point—these people know Burt and Carole very well, and know that they do not like to stand on ceremony. 

Kurt is struck silent by the sight of them looking so wonderful together, off-white robes strewn with wildflower motifs, a clutch of them at the breast of Burt's robe and strands of them woven through Carole's hair, the jewelry given to her by the Andersons bright blue at her ears and throat.

They speak the words of promise and family, sign their names to the contract, then prick their fingertips with the ceremonial pin and press a single drop of blood beside their signatures.

Blaine's arm tightens around his, and it's only when he feels the comforting touch that he realizes he's crying. He's happy for his dad and Carole, but he can't stop thinking about his mom. He can't help but grieve for the years that they never had. For the fact that she will never meet Blaine, never bear witness to the love that he and Blaine share, never get to see them exchange vows and signatures and blood at the contract table. 

Burt and Carole's vows make him begin to cry all over again, and this time Blaine is crying, too. After the contracts are set aside and the cheering crowd quiets down, they stand.

Blaine strokes his back. "Go be with them. I can amuse myself."

Kurt kisses his cheek. "Don't promise all of your dances to someone else."

Finn finds Kurt not long after he leaves Blaine, and flings his arms around. "Little brother, this food is amazing."

Kurt laughs into Finn's chest before putting him at arm's length. "'Little brother'? And how in the world are you drunk already?"

"That's what we are now, right? I've always wanted a little brother." His breath could kill a horse.

"I suppose we can see how that goes," Kurt answers, looping an arm through Finn's to lead him over to their parents. All four of them share one huge hug.

"Congratulations," he says, and means it. "I'm so happy for you both." He hugs Carole separately and adds, to her alone, "Welcome to the family."

She kisses his cheek and whispers back, "Thank you."

"And you've done enough," Burt declares. "Go dance with Blaine."

He doesn't give over that easily—he insists on the second dance with his dad, the third with Carole and, to his surprise and embarrassment, Finn claims the fourth with him. Only then does he find Blaine, just disengaging from Katherine, and scoop him up.

"And how may I assist you, handsome stranger?" Blaine asks, twining his arms around Kurt's neck.

"Well," Kurt says, drawing him close, "I seem to have lost my intended..."

Blaine laughs, brushing their noses together. "Everything in order?"

Kurt nods, letting his hands linger over Blaine's chest before shifting them more politely to his back. "Finn is taking his new familial duty seriously. It's either that or the ale; I can't tell which."

"This is a good thing, I hope?"

"It's sudden, but if he's committed, I'm on board as well."

They dance to wonderfully simple music, wound around each other in the warm evening air, candlelight and the hum of insects all around them.

Contentment trickles through Kurt in waves. His breathing deepens. Blaine's lips find a home below his ear. Against his neck. Against the curve of his ear, his jaw, and his cheek. No one is watching them, and Kurt can't say that he'd care even if they were.

"Is there any way for us to escape for a few hours?" Blaine asks.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I just want to be alone with you."

"There's a modest guest cabin, set back in the woods behind the house. Dad made a point of keeping it up once I moved, in case I wanted to use it on return visits."

Blaine pulls back, and looks into his eyes. "Take me there?"

"Gladly," Kurt breathes, pressing their foreheads together.

There is an unusual lack of supervision as the party begins to break up. Trent and Blaine's cousins are nowhere to be found, and Burt and Carole are busy bidding their departing guests goodbye. 

Kurt and Blaine change into pajamas and outdoor slippers, and then disappear into the forest. 

The guest cabin is a single room with a sink, a bed, a table and chairs, and a fireplace. They uncover and make up the bed, open the windows, and light the lamp on the table.

Kurt isn't entirely prepared for the sight of Blaine in his sleeveless pajama top and shorts, lying there on the bed like a fantasy sprung to life. His breath catches, and he feels his heart bang against his chest. 

Blaine's right hand reaches for his and he takes it, and allows himself to be drawn down onto the bed, just inches away from Blaine's body. He guides Blaine's arm around his waist and then slots their legs together, pressing forward until there is no space between them. 

He cups Blaine's jaw and kisses him. The kisses are soft and full of breath and the brush of their tongues, and when they come up for air their faces are hot and their bodies not far behind.

He stares into Blaine's eyes. "Soon, this will be our right."

Blaine kisses him, and the hand that he has on Kurt's back begins stroking up and down. "What grand things did you imagine for your own wedding, when you were little?"

"A better question would be, what didn't I imagine?"

Blaine laughs, his eyes lighting up. "Alright, then. What do you imagine now?"

"To be honest, now that I live on the compound, I can't imagine going to extremes. But I would like some fanfare. Good music and the best food that we can manage. Robes so glorious that people will talk about them for years to come."

"We should begin the preparations," Blaine says. "We may need to send away for things."

Kurt can't suppress the thrill that goes through him at that; he has been fantasizing about his wedding since he was old enough to know what a wedding was.

Blaine kisses his chin, under his jaw, and then the dip of his throat. "I am so used to rushing, when we steal these moments. It feels almost strange, having a bit of time and privacy." 

All of the sudden, the innocent tangle of their bodies feels—not so innocent. 

Especially when Blaine's teeth nip at Kurt's collarbone, and his tongue rushes after to soothe the sting. Kurt's hips rock forward to meet the hard plane of Blaine's thigh. Blaine's hand tightens in his hair, holding him steady as he kisses every inch of exposed skin that he can reach.

"Blaine," he moans, when the hand on his back slides down to tease the swell of his buttocks. 

He captures Blaine's lips, lashing forward with his tongue until he's granted space in between them. The wet heat of Blaine's mouth sends an urgent rush down his spine. He bends into Blaine's body, and Blaine's hands scrabble up his back in response.

They can only do this for so long before Kurt grows aroused. He tries not to allow the feeling to escalate, but beyond his control he's stiffening up quickly, and he isn't innocent enough that he hasn't begun to notice how good friction feels.

Blaine rolls his hips up, and Kurt can feel an answering hardness, lodged against his hip. The heat boiling beneath his skin bubbles over.

He ruts himself against Blaine's thigh. "I can't—please—I can't—"

"Can't what, love?" Blaine asks, breathing heavily.

"I don't know," he gasps. "I don't know, I don't know what to do, I feel—" Blaine tears their mouths apart, and stares into Kurt's heavy-lidded, glazed eyes.

"You feel so good," he whispers, letting Kurt move against him.

"We said we wouldn't, is this—does this—count?"

"If we allow it to reach its natural conclusion, yes."

"It hurts," Kurt whines, writhing forward, "it aches."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be, I don't mean to make you feel badly, I just—it feels so good when I press against you, but I don't understand, and—"

"I know. I know, love, I know."

"It's been so long for you, too," Kurt says, scraping his fingernails down Blaine's neck. "I want—I want to give you relief, and pleasure, so much." He closes his eyes. "I want to be good for you." He drags his hip along the stiff press of Blaine's arousal. "I want to be so good for you, Blaine."

Blaine whimpers and rocks against Kurt's belly, shaking like a leaf.

The only thing that stops it from toppling over right then and there is Kurt feeling something wet on his skin. He jerks back and stares down in awe at the sight of Blaine swollen up, fully erect in his pajamas, the tip of his length soaking wet through the thin cloth—the moisture that it's leaking has smeared across Kurt's naked stomach, where his top has ridden up, shiny and clear.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Blaine mutters, frantically tugging his shirt down in an attempt to hide it. "Sometimes that happens, when you—get close."

"Are you? Close?" Kurt asks, his eyes wide, his face bright red, and his mouth wet. 

"The longer we stop, the easier it becomes to back down."

Kurt stares at the mess on his belly. He can't help it. He licks his lips. "Oh." He strokes Blaine's hair in what he hopes is a calming gesture. "So if we slow down, we can stop? It's okay?"

"Of course," Blaine replies, voice strained. "Give me a moment?"

They eventually calm down enough to start kissing again, only this time the kisses are slow and gentle. Kurt floats, tingling and hazy and so comfortable. He falls asleep briefly, their kisses nothing more than the press of slack lips, and then wakes up to find Blaine watching him.

"We should probably get back to the house," Blaine says, tracing the shape of his lips.

"Agreed. I'm going to sleep the rest of the night away here if we don't get up now."

Saying good night is a torment. 

They linger in the bedroom hallway back in the cabin for several minutes, kissing in cool darkness, their bodies tangled, their fingers in each other's hair, trying not to make any noise. 

When they break apart, Kurt says, "Not so long now."

September is right around the corner, and before they know it Winter will dim their lives again, and by the time that they recover from the ordeal it will be Spring, time to finalize their wedding plans, and then—

Then everything can truly begin.


	10. Chapter 10

The hospital is the one building on the compound that Kurt has never been inside of. 

He has to admit that part of him has been intentionally avoiding the place. The aura of sanitized depression that surrounds the hospital reminds him too much of kind but resigned faces bearing bad news, of the sharp smell of antiseptics, and of his mother's gray mouth, so different from the laughing pink curve that it had always been before childbirth had torn her apart.

He has nothing but respect for those who choose medicine as a profession, but he hates the way that the place makes him feel, and the fact that Blaine handles this industry has always given him a perfect excuse to not go near it. 

Now, he finally has a reason. This morning he had received a note from Arthur, the carrier who he had met in the music shop, informing him of the birth of a baby girl to him and his wife.

Kurt feels like turning around the moment that he crosses the threshold. His skin goes clammy and tight, and his throat feels like there's a pine cone lodged at its base. He hates this place. He hates the whitewashed walls and the shiny floors. He hates the smell and the quiet interspersed with sounds of suffering.

A smiling attendant greets him at the front desk, and offers to escort him to Arthur's room.

It's only then, when he sees a familiar face, that he begins to breathe normally again. He sits in a chair beside the bed, smiles, and reaches for Arthur's hand. Arthur looks smaller without the pregnant belly, but he is still a large man.

"I got your note," Kurt says.

"Figured that one out."

"How long have you been in recovery?" 

"A fair while." He coughs. "It took far longer than expected—the gestation and the recovery."

Kurt's heart slams against his chest. "What happened?"

"Complications. We're both past the danger zone now, though."

Kurt stares at all of the equipment that Arthur is hooked up to—tubes and wires and machines with hundreds of years of technological development between them. Arthur is wearing a complicated bandage and drainage system around where they'd surgically removed the baby. 

He swallows heavily. "What did you name the baby?"

"Patricia," Arthur answers. "She's a fighter. My wife is in the nursery with her now."

"Congratulations to you both. It seems strange to say that while you're still stuck in here, but—"

"Not at all." Arthur smiles. "I'm a lucky man." He pauses, and then asks, "You're panicking, aren't you? That wasn't my intention, you know."

Kurt laughs, sounding nervous. "Uh. Yes. A little? I'm sorry."

"Doctor Mereen told me that she'd never seen you in the hospital."

Kurt isn't sure why, but he wants to confide in this man. "My mother died in childbirth," he says, his eyes glazing over. "I hate hospitals. Doctors make me nervous."

"It ain't pretty," Arthur says. "But you're not long from marriage. Even if you put conception off, they're going to want to run tests to make sure that your carrier organ is still in good shape. You're going to be in here sooner than you'd like to be, no matter how you slice it."

"I appreciate the nudge," he replies, grasping Arthur's arm. "Just showing me how normal this can be, even when it's difficult, has already made a difference."

"They had to take my organ out," Arthur says, looking down. "She was in there too long, and I'm no Spring chicken. It was worth it, though. She's getting stronger by the day, and—I'd do it again if I had to, Kurt. I'd do it again." His eyes drift shut; he's obviously been exhausted by their talk.

"I am so happy for you and your family," Kurt says. "But I think you need to rest."

Arthur nods, but grasps his fingers one last time. "It's worth it. But you have to want it. Don't do it otherwise. Don't do it as an afterthought, or because you have to. Heir or no heir, don't—don't do it for someone else. Do it for the child who is going to grow up and make a difference."

Kurt makes it into the hallway before his tears fall, his chest tied up in knots.

It's the first time that someone has spoken to him about having a child that he's felt something stir deep within himself, and he's scared. He's more scared of wanting it than not wanting it—more scared of loving and possibly losing than anything else.

His only consolation is that he knows Blaine feels the same way. At the very least, it's a fear that they can work through together. Because they do need to produce an heir—or at least agree on when they will begin to try for one. Though everyone continues to remind them to do it on their own terms and for their own reasons, Kurt knows that if too much time passes with no sign of the next generation of Andersons, their people will begin to talk and worry. He doesn't want that.

He only wishes that they had more time.

 

*

 

Getting to be a part of the Winter preparations from the inside is like living at the center of a whirlwind. Kurt's schedule goes right out of the window—Anna becomes invaluable to him, his and Blaine's dates often pass with the two of them just dozing together on a couch or talking over a meal or a stack of paperwork, and he barely has the time to do anything but address issue after issue, until his mind is a formless humming mass of numbers and names. 

And when he's alone late at night and the adrenaline rush of making decisions that will affect people's lives won't wear off, he goes through his wedding checklist. 

Piece by piece, he and Blaine are working it out, agreeing and disagreeing, compromising and sometimes failing to compromise. Their overall preferences line up well enough, but they frequently clash over the details. They bicker. They make each other laugh. On stressful days, they fight over stupid things, and then make up as sweetly as they'd argued bitterly. 

It's very new and overwhelming, seeing each other so often. Learning someone through both the good and the bad feels like so much more of a commitment than being content with them all of the time. Kurt had never thought that he'd be grateful for the fact that they live in opposite wings of the house, but he often is, as the weather cools—they are most definitely a work in progress.

Blaine will start going on about a parade of horses dressed in white leather dragging a sled full of roses behind them in their wedding procession and his temple will begin to throb and Trent will groan and fall back twenty paces just to let them have at it. 

Loving someone, building a life with someone, is the most rewarding process that Kurt has ever taken part in, but sometimes he contemplates shoving Blaine right off of his horse just to alleviate the tension that rises between them when they disagree. 

He is sure that the feeling is mutual.

He is equally sure that making up is well worth all of the shouting.

Once a month, they take their meetings off-compound, in an effort to meet the village governors halfway, and also to enjoy the outdoors before the snow pushes them into hibernation. The meetings are the same as always—supply and labor and homestead readiness checklists—and by the time that they finish their rounds they have it down to a science.

"We're ahead of schedule," Blaine tells him, one afternoon. 

Blaine reaches for his gloves but Kurt takes them instead, working his fingers into them one by one while stealing a moment to touch his bare wrists, and give him a kiss on the cheek. 

The meeting had gone smoothly, but Blaine is tired and Kurt knows it.

Blaine smiles at him. "Fiero and I have history." Kurt squints. "No, not that kind of history—he is just prickly. This is our eighth winter working together and it never seems to get any easier."

"He was our last one today. There's a stopover cabin nearby. It's not precisely on our way, but it's close enough if you wanted to spend the night out here."

"I don't know," Blaine says as they walk back to their horses, the mountain a white-green-brown monster rising behind them. "I'd rather get home, if it's all the same to you. We could snag a few hours before bed." He smiles, tangles their hands, and leans in close to whisper, "A kiss might just erase the stresses of the day, don't you think?"

Kurt's cheek goes warm, and a thrill flutters behind his breastbone. "I'll put that theory to the test."

One day the mere thought of kissing Blaine might not turn his knees to jelly and make the hair on his arms stand up—but it is not this day.

Back at the house, they take their time turning their horses and outerwear over, and make small talk all the way up to Blaine's rooms, where they change into dry clothes and drink warm cider with Trent and David, who settle across the room while they cuddle up under a blanket together on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Having proven that they don't intend to take full advantage of sharing a roof or the privacy of Kurt's garden, their chaperones have chosen to give them the liberty of a sideways eye rather than a watchful one, and it has done wonders for their intimacy.

Once they've gotten comfortable, Kurt doesn't hesitate to slot their lips together. Blaine tastes like apples and home, and his kiss is a comfort as well as an excitement after the long day that they've had. Beneath the blanket their legs are tangled, and Blaine's hands are resting on the slice of skin that's showing between Kurt's rucked up tunic and the waistband of his pants. 

"How's that theory holding up?" Blaine asks.

"More research is required," Kurt says, deepening the kiss.

Blaine laughs. "I approve of your methods. Very thorough. Commendable, even."

Kurt nudges their noses together, pauses dramatically, and then whispers, "Two horses. Beige leather with floral accents. We'll ride them, or walk them, but no sled."

Blaine groans. "Oh, come on!"

"Take it or leave it, Anderson."

"Damn. Alright, alright."

Kurt squeaks and bounces. "Ha!"

"You distract me with kisses and then I agree to things. Don't think that I haven't noticed."

"Details, details..."

 

*

 

On a quiet night, they meet on the balcony outside of the family library. Blaine is lost in the memory of the first time that they'd kissed on this very spot last year. He almost doesn't hear Kurt until Kurt is beside him, startling when he feels a pair of strong arms circle his waist from behind.

"Hello, cheater," Kurt says. "What's the occasion? It's cold out here."

They do try to keep the sneaking around to a minimum, so he isn't surprised that Kurt's curiosity is piqued.

"I noticed that you sent a care package to the Slingtons," he says. "So I paid them a visit to follow up. I hope you don't mind—I just had a free hour. Arthur and the baby are home and doing well."

Kurt smiles. "I'm glad."

"Are you and he friends?"

"Of a kind," Kurt replies. "I bought a flute from him when he was still pregnant. We kept up a sporadic correspondence after that, and when he was in recovery I visited him."

"He mentioned that."

Kurt shifts around to look at Blaine's face. "Is something wrong?"

Blaine has been dreading this confrontation all day.

"There are things that are more important to me than weddings, Kurt," he says.

Kurt's eye's narrow. "Where are you going with this?"

"You've shared feelings about pregnancy and children and parenthood with Arthur that you've never shared with me," he says, swallowing heavily. "How can we move forward into marriage if you don't trust me with that side of yourself?"

"I'm—I'm sorry." Kurt's face goes still with surprised hurt.

"Why him and not me?" Blaine asks. 

He hadn't meant to turn this into an accusation, so when he sees the flare of pain in Kurt's eyes at the question he stops, gives himself a shake, and walks them back into the warmth of the library, sitting them side by side on separate chairs. 

"Your fear has driven me away, in part," Kurt admits, his voice shaking. "Before I came here, I simply accepted the idea, and ignored my fears, because giving you an heir was the reason why we were betrothed in the first place. And then I moved here, and I began to live this life. I learned the weight of the burden of the work that we do. I learned to love my privacy and individuality as much as I loved being with you." He smiles crookedly, his eyes filling with tears. "Falling in love with you changed everything. It felt like enough, more than enough, and then—you were afraid, and in loving you, I took on some of that fear. It blended with my own, and it confused me."

"I never meant for that to happen," Blaine says, his chest aching with pain.

There is a poignant silence, and then Kurt says, "I don't want to wait forever, Blaine. I don't want to rush, either, or begin on our wedding night, but I don't want to wait." His voice breaks. "I want to start a family with you. It's taken me this long to even begin to figure that out, but I know that I want us to create something. Something that's mine, and yours, and ours. It's probably never going to be what I expect it to be, and that used to terrify me—but I've grown used to the unexpected. I think that's why the idea doesn't scare me the way that it used to."

"Even after losing your mother, you're still so brave. To put yourself through the same thing—"

Kurt interrupts, "She would have encouraged me to do it. She would have told me that creation out of love is never the wrong choice. I'm not doing this for her, but I suppose in some small way I am doing it because of her."

"You are going to be the most amazing father, Kurt," Blaine says, and feels embarrassed when tears spill over his cheeks.

Kurt rushes forward to touch him, his knees, his thighs, his hands. "And so are you. Why are you unable to see that?"

"I've seen so much death in the hospital here; so many babies gone before their first day—"

"I saw the same in our village."

"Then I'm a coward," Blaine says, his voice thick with frustration and self-loathing.

Why is it so easy for Kurt and so hard for him?

"You're not a coward," Kurt insists. "You're facing your fears. That is the opposite of cowardice."

"You're too mature for your age, do you know that?" Blaine asks, kneeling beside Kurt's chair. He feels sad and in desperate need of reassurance, and shudders in relief when Kurt's fingers slide into his hair.

"Optimism of youth?" Blaine feels his lips twitch. "I see that smile," Kurt says, stroking his forehead. "I wasn't always this sure of it, Blaine. But I am now."

Blaine buries his face in Kurt's knees. "I'm frightened. But I want it, too, so much. Promise me that you'll go to the doctor? Before we...?"

"Of course I will, sweetheart."

"I love you," he says, pressing his lips to Kurt's wrist. "I love you so much. If I did nothing else for the rest of my life, that alone would justify every breath that I've taken."

"You're going to inherit this entire province," Kurt reminds him. "Which, by the way, you've been effectively running since your sixteenth birthday. You don't need me to justify your life, silly."

"Sometimes it doesn't feel that way. But I know that you're right. I'm good at what I do, I'm—the best at what I do, I just—"

Kurt smiles. "You're amazing at everything that you set your mind to."

"Except saying no to you." He kisses Kurt's chin.

"Well, perhaps—but have you ever really tried?"

"That's debatable." He kisses Kurt's jaw.

Kurt breathes warm over his face. "I don't think that you have."

He kisses Kurt's neck. "I think you may be right."

"Blaine."

He kisses Kurt's ear. "This was a very good conversation. I am glad that we had it."

"Is this you showing your gratitude?" 

He kisses Kurt's lips. "Kiss me, Kurt."

Kurt smiles against his mouth. "Persuasive."

He kisses Kurt again, warmer, harder, cupping the side of his neck and face. "God, I want you."

Kurt inhales. "Very persuasive."

He kisses Kurt until Kurt slides from the seat of his chair to the floor, all long limbs and sweet smelling skin and so much warmth. He digs his fingers into Kurt's hair and presses against the seam of Kurt's mouth until it yields, shudders through the wet drag of tongue over tongue over teeth over lips as they kiss. He drags Kurt into his lap, one hand around the back of Kurt's neck.

"You're shaking," Kurt says, tilting his head back to allow Blaine better access.

"You make me useless." He places open-mouthed kisses down Kurt's neck, all the way to the collar of his tunic, and then repeats this on the opposite side, back up to Kurt's ear, where he has a little spot just below and behind that Blaine knows very well.

"Oh," Kurt moans, twitching in his lap.

Blaine grins, closing his lips around the patch of skin. When he releases it, it's spit-soaked and dark under his mouth, and he blows a cool stream of breath over it just to hear Kurt whimper. 

He feels all of the upset from before draining like poison from a wound, and becoming something wonderfully sweet in the conversion. It morphs into the exact opposite of what it had been, making him feel heavy and wanton instead of untethered and frightened.

_Eight months._

He wants it so badly that it hurts.

Even his most elaborate fantasies have never been capable of producing the unique combination of love, lust, and connection that thinking of Kurt makes him feel. Thoughts mean nothing, are nothing, against the reality of the man that Blaine loves, full figured and bright and alive and honest, never allowing him to wallow in his own doubts, demanding by sheer force of his belief in them that he embrace everything that he is, and everything that they can be together.

He gasps, feeling Kurt rock in his lap.

"I love you," Kurt moans, tearing their mouths apart, his hips swiveling against Blaine's. "I love you, I love you, oh, god—"

"W-wait." 

It's happening too quickly. He can feel Kurt, stiff and full against his belly, can feel the sprawl of wet spots on the front of his pajamas, can feel how close he already is.

"I know," Kurt groans, "I know, I know, I just—I'm okay, I just want to feel it for a moment."

He can't deny Kurt. 

He slides his fingers around Kurt's hips, just to keep them from getting too much traction, but he does let Kurt rub against his belly, lets him work the firm shape of his shaft up and down, up and down, back and forth, until he's panting and gripping Blaine's shoulders.

_Eight months._

The love that he sees in Kurt's eyes, the bold-faced wanting, rips into his chest like claws, sends sweat prickling along his flesh and the hair on the back of his neck up.

"What—what does it feel like?" he asks, trying to distract himself.

Panting, Kurt answers, "It's hard. Throbbing. It feels like it needs to be touched. Pressed, squeezed. Just—friction. And then like I almost—" His cheeks go hot, and he tips his jaw against Blaine's. "Almost like I'm going to urinate."

"You're not," Blaine replies. "You're—that's, what you call finishing. That's what happens when you don't stop."

Kurt's arms wrap around his neck, lock at the elbow, and he hauls himself up higher, shifting their bodies apart. His chest heaves and shudders, and Blaine's hands slide down his arms.

"You've had this before. You must miss it."

"I've never had before what you make me feel now."

"You know what I mean."

Defeated, he presses up so that Kurt can feel how hard he is. "I can't go an hour without thinking about it." He kisses Kurt's collarbone, thumbs his wide, strong chest, and feels over the stiff nubs of his nipples. "I think about your body—about peeling you out of your clothes and exploring every inch of you."

Kurt shudders, shifting restlessly against him. "Blaine—oh, god."

"I want to make you come, for every time that I did when I was younger but you never got to," he rasps, gripping Kurt's backside and rutting their erections together. 

"Is that what it's called? Coming?" Kurt asks, and then adds, high-pitched, "You're so hard."

"One of many lay terms, yes. A noun and a verb, if you like. Kurt. Kurt, just—right there." They're pressed perfectly together, the head of his cock knocking up against the underside of Kurt's, so far gone that there's no way their pajamas could hold them down.

"H-how is it a noun?"

Damn. They aren't even supposed to be having this conversation, much less—

"The stains on your sheets," he murmurs, hoping that Kurt will understand.

"Oh," Kurt moans, and Blaine can feel his cock twitch, can feel his ass clenching up beneath Blaine's fingers. "Oh, oh, oh, god, stop, I'm going to—"

Blaine freezes.

"Damn. Damn damn damn."

"D-did you...?"

"No, but I almost did."

"Okay. Okay, we'll stop. It's okay."

"How does anyone ever choose to stop? I feel like I might die on the spot."

Blaine laughs, his face burning, and his cock aching. "They rarely do."

Letting their bodies calm down takes a very long time. 

They slowly untangle, shifting to sit on the rug with space in between them.

Guilt helps to take the edge off of the urgency. Blaine knows that Kurt doesn't touch himself, doesn't even know that he can, and though they've bent the rules, he still feels tongue-tied at the idea of telling him. It would lead to too many other questions that he isn't allowed to answer. 

He's tried as often as he can to refrain from self-pleasure, for Kurt's sake, but he is only so strong, and he knows that he won't be able to deny himself before bed tonight. 

Kurt smiles, tilting his head, his eyes raking Blaine's body. "We'll have to conduct serious conversations often, if this is the result."

"Noted, love," Blaine replies, laughing.

 

*

 

Winter grinding life to a halt is a change for Blaine, who has been so busy that having free time feels like waking up on the wrong side of the bed, only all day long.

Once the initial wait for signs of illness passes, the mood in the house lightens. Though superstition is fairly uncommon in their world, Blaine hears talk giving Kurt's presence credit for the good fortune. He can't say that he minds the silliness.

His and Kurt's dates are lazy affairs. 

Their wedding plans are complete and have been approved by his parents, and the invitations had gone out well ahead of the snow.

They take long walks around the manor with Sam nipping at their heels. Sometimes they're accompanied by family, sometimes by staff, and sometimes by a mix of both.

They hold hands and laugh and talk, trying to keep people's spirits up as cabin fever and the doldrums of Winter fight to drag them down.

They play music and put on plays and sing together. They eat and nap and do silly things like style each other's hair or give whoever will stand still long enough makeovers. They duck outside for breaths of fresh air, bundled up from head to toe, and then retreat back into the house to hot drinks and roaring fireplaces, opening their rooms to anyone who might want to join them.

They become the social center of manor life in just a couple of short months.

There are moments when Blaine is simply amazed at how far they have come. 

Kurt has grown so much. He looks like a confident man now, instead of a very determined boy. He's lean and strong, his face grown sharp and elven, his shoulders and arms wide with muscle. Blaine loves this version of him as much as he'd loved the slightly softer Kurt who had stumbled into his arms that first day, red-cheeked and dewy-eyed. 

He thinks that he will love Kurt in every one of his incarnations, no matter where life takes them.

 

*

 

One evening, both Trent and David have emergency work duties at the same time, and in the shuffle they each come to believe that the other is staying with Kurt and Blaine.

"I take back everything that I've ever said about clerical errors," Kurt says, dragging Blaine up the stairs and into his room.

It's exciting to be entirely unsupervised in the house, especially when they find out that Trent and David will be gone until the following day. 

The fire is banked and the heating vents are turned down—they are trying to reserve fuel—so it's chilly in Kurt's bedroom. They decide to get the fire going again as a compromise.

"Other ways to warm up," Kurt says, smiling.

Blaine smiles back, and slides his hands beneath Kurt's shirt to find his bare skin. "Agreed."

Kurt's eyes are a glassy sea-blue in the firelight. "Why don't you change for bed here?" Blaine's throat dries up. "And then we can spend the night together?" 

"Yes, I'll—just be a second."

He changes in the bathroom, and when he returns he finds Kurt dressed in a simple sleeping tunic, two sizes too big and hanging to his knees, gathered by loose ties at his collarbone so that it drips off of his shoulders like icing off of a warm cake.

Blaine can only stare at the outline of his body thrown into relief by the firelight. He flushes to the roots of his hair, watching Kurt cross the room, turn down the covers and crawl into bed, tucking his cheek to the pillows with a come hither smile. When he slides in beside Kurt, he rolls onto his stomach and tangles their hands between them on the bed.

Kurt stares at him. "Hello."

"Hello." He breathes out, slow and easy. "It has been quite the year, hasn't it?"

"It has. Also—I think that we must suggest changing the Apple Festival to another fruit."

"Sick of them already?"

"Yes. Rotate fruits year to year, is all I'm saying."

Laughing, Blaine wraps an arm around Kurt's waist, and lays his head on Kurt's chest. Peace rolls through him in waves to the rhythm of Kurt's heart beating against his cheek.

"If this is the end of every day, I think that I could endure anything to get here," Kurt whispers against his hair, and then puts his hand into the thick frizz, petting it down.

He intends to say something, but he's already half-asleep.

The next morning he regrets that they hadn't lifted the heating vents just a little—the fire is dead and the room is freezing, and before he even opens his eyes he's shivering and burrowing deeper under several layers of blankets and furs into Kurt's arms. He's almost asleep again when Kurt rolls over half on top of him and rubs their bodies together. 

He feels Kurt's heavy leg and side drape over his. Neither of them are suffering from the usual morning condition, which makes it feel safe to stay close and tangled. 

Kurt reveals that he's awake by murmuring, "You smell good."

He smiles. "Good morning." When Kurt moves to kiss him, he pulls back. "My breath is horrible."

"Don't care," Kurt replies, kissing him anyway. "And it is not."

He opens his eyes to see Kurt hovering over him—messy hair, bright blue-green eyes, and a pillow crease across his right cheek. 

Blaine thumbs the mark with a smile. 

 

*

 

Kurt tinkers when he can't sleep. 

He's collected a good amount of metal and string and wire and inner machine workings—nothing fancy, just random pieces that he can solder together and then melt down again to shape into something else when he grows bored. He finds himself sitting at his work bench often this Winter, when Sam is snoring and Anna has left him.

On one of these nights he's sitting at his work table, his hands stained with oil and glue, wearing just a pair of loose sleeping pants, his hair a riot from earlier attempts at sleep.

The last thing that he expects is a knock at the door, much less the revelation that his late night visitor is Blaine's mother.

She smiles and peers into his room, her dressing gown drawn tightly around her body. "I saw the light on. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Sam, woken by their visitor, sleepily trots over and puts his head up under her hand. She pets him with another polite smile as Kurt motions her inside.

He shrugs into a robe as she sits in front of his smoldering hearth. "Should I call for something warm to drink?"

"Oh, no, not for me, thank you," she says.

After stoking the fire, he sits across from her. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Jon has a cold, and he's nervous about giving it to me, so he went to sleep in a guest room. I find it difficult to sleep without him."

Kurt smiles, finding that wonderfully romantic. "Oh. I hope it's nothing serious?"

"Thankfully not." She stares into the flickering fire. "How is your family back home?"

"Doing very well, thanks," he replies. "My dad and Carole are content, and Finn has begun to take over whole work days on his own. He's courting someone."

She smiles, nodding. "Life moves steadily on, hm?"

"It certainly does."

"You miss them, don't you?"

"Every day," he says. "But this place has become my home."

She tilts her head, and her dark, thick hair tumbles over her shoulders. "Some days I can hardly recognize you—you've come so far from the blushing boy you were the day you arrived."

He laughs, scrubbing a hand over his cheek—realizing only too late that his hands are still dirty. "I really am half asleep. One moment." He retrieves a damp cloth from his table, and swipes at his hands and cheek as he sits back down. "It feels worlds away, that day."

"In a way, it was."

Kurt works the rag over his fingers and nails, over the bones of his knuckles and wrists. "Has it been difficult? I mean—really difficult, at times, being married?"

"Oh, goodness, yes," she says. "Nothing that is intended to last a lifetime could possibly come without difficulties." She tilts her head the other way. "Do you know that there was a year when Jon and I had separate bedchambers and hardly spoke?"

Kurt's jaw drops. "No."

"It was quite the scandal. We could hardly keep it a secret. It was the year after I had Blaine. Jon wanted us to try for another child. I didn't want another pregnancy. I had already lost a son some ten years before Blaine, and when he came along so easily, and he was so healthy, I felt—complete. There was something about him—I knew that he would be our son and heir. A small part of me loved Jon enough to consider making the sacrifice for him—he had always wanted children more than I—but in the end my heart could not do it. We fought. Blaine probably has no memory of this, because by the time he was old enough to notice, we'd made up."

"How did you—make up?"

"Over time," she says. "We admitted that we were both right, and both wrong, and that we weren't listening to one another. Neither of us wanted to yield. Once you acknowledge a stalemate, it becomes easier to break. Eventually, we forgave one another. Blaine was a big part of that. He needed us united. He had a nanny simply because there was no way for us to be there for him day and night, with our responsibilities, but—we realized that we couldn't operate as two separate entities. Not for Blaine's sake. Not for the province's sake. Not for our sake."

Kurt fiddles with the sash on his robe. "Was it more complicated between you, after Blaine?"

She smiles. "Do you mean intimacy, or...?"

He blushes. "In general, I suppose, but that, too."

"Children are always a challenge to any relationship—but they are also an unparalleled joy."

The firewood snaps and crackles, and Kurt feels as if he'll implode if he doesn't confide in her.

"I told Blaine that I don't want to wait too long to start our family," he says, finally, all on one breath. "I am—sure of it, now. But he still struggles. How can I help him?"

"Blaine is the sort of man who needs to be shown to believe," she says. 

"I can do that. But he has to want it. It has to be his choice, too."

"He must walk his own path," she says, smiling. "But remember to walk it beside him."

"Thank you, Anita," he says. "I know that Winter seems never ending, but we all know how quickly time passes. I want to at least be able to convincingly pretend that I'm ready for this."

As she rises to leave, she leans over to kiss his forehead. "Don't be silly, Kurt. You are ready."

He watches her go, lost in his thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

Winter bleeds into Spring, and after the thaw Blaine guides Kurt through his first post-Winter circuit. 

They travel in a small group from village to village, taking census and reports on the fallout of the season. It's repetitive and sometimes depressing work, tallying the deaths and the need for repairs and supplies, but they determinately plow through it.

All told the process takes two months, and then they're off home again. 

When they arrive, they see that their wedding plans are already being realized—deliveries from other provinces have begun to arrive. Anna is at the head of the charge, making sure that everything is in order. There's an expectant air of curiosity on the compound—everyone seems to be talking about the event.

Blaine takes supper with his father the evening that they return.

"Shall we discuss your looming retirement?" he asks over dessert.

"You know that it's not really a retirement," Jon answers.

"In the eyes of the province it is. That matters."

His father breathes out loudly, and sits back from the table. "It does. The passing of leadership has always been a staggered process for us."

"What was it like when you took over?" Blaine asks. 

"Your mother and I had been married and leading for a year or so, with her parents' behind the scenes guidance. That Winter—well. You know that we lost both of her parents and my mother in the same week. The sickness was debilitating. Our people needed us, even though all we wanted to do was grieve. We did what we had to do." He smiles, and tilts his head. "Perhaps we hesitate now because we feel that you and Kurt have the luxury of relying on our expertise a little bit longer."

Cheeks going warm, Blaine reaches over and takes his father's hand. "That means everything to me, but—I believe that we're ready."

"I know that you do," Jon says, and leaves it at that.

 

*

 

The morning of Blaine's birthday, Kurt and Blaine find themselves free of their chaperones in the warmth of Kurt's garden, which is now a thriving oasis of bright colors and sweet smells. Their heavy breathing is the only noise aside from the pond burbling softly behind them.

A decimated breakfast lies off to their side, and the blanket beneath them is rumpled where their legs have been twitching and tangling.

Kurt is on top of Blaine, his knees braced on either side of Blaine's hips, one hand in his hair and the other buried in the grass to keep him upright. They're kissing, open-mouthed and lazy, their skin glowing hot. It's been hours of nothing but this, of Kurt proving just how skilled he has become at reducing Blaine to gibberish with only the press of his lips and tongue and teeth.

He knows how Blaine likes to be kissed, knows when he prefers to stop for breath, knows how sensitive the bow of his upper lip becomes when it's been neglected for a while, knows to expect a whining sigh when he works his jaw forward just so to kiss Blaine deeper. 

Kurt drops both of his hands to the grass, leaning on his elbows so that he can focus all of his attention on working Blaine's mouth open under his. He slides his tongue inside and drags the tip of it along the underside of Blaine's, which answers his invitation like a hypnotized snake, and feels a shudder run through Blaine's body, followed by a moan.

He grins against Blaine's lips. "Still with me?"

Blaine rocks their pelvises together. "That depends on your definition of 'with me', I suppose."

Kurt kisses the corner of his swollen mouth, then his jaw, then his neck, slow and careful as it tilts up against his wandering mouth. "Want you," he says, voice gone husky, tonguing at the pulse pounding beneath Blaine's skin. "Want you so badly."

"Kurt," Blaine moans, sliding a leg around Kurt's hip.

Kurt closes his lips around the knob of Blaine's throat and sucks, and feels Blaine's hips twitch off of the blanket and slam into his. "I've found another spot," he says, dragging his tongue over it.

"That must be quite the list by now."

"You're sure that there is no available option for an abbreviated marriage ceremony?" Kurt asks, a playful smile on his lips as he works his way up the other side of Blaine's neck and ear.

"You've already managed to convince them not to celebrate your birthday," Blaine says. "Asking them to rush the contract signing would probably be pushing things."

"It would have been one too many celebrations, especially considering that we're losing the morning to the wedding procession."

"True."

They take a moment to cool off.

"My dad's reply finally arrived," Kurt says, tucking his face against Blaine's shoulder.

"Yes?"

"He was surprised that I asked him to go to the town square instead of coming to see us first. I guess I didn't do a very good job of explaining to him that I just want to get through that part on my own."

"I understand what you mean."

There's a pause, and the gentle play of Blaine's hands over his back. The urgent lust of moments before fizzles out into a buzzing warmth. 

Blaine kisses his temple, and he smiles. "Of course you do."

 

*

 

On the morning of Kurt and Blaine's wedding, it rains.

Kurt is at the window in his rooms when it begins, dressed in the undergarments and underlay of his wedding robe, white trousers and a tunic waiting for the flowing layers of lavender over tunic and sashes that will be fixed to his arms and torso and hips at the last minute.

Behind him, Anna is fussing with the armful of cloth that Ben had thrust into her arms.

"Rain is a good sign; it means life," she says, obviously trying to derail his impending meltdown.

"It's wet. It's wet and my hair—"

He's gone through several kinds of panic this morning already—what's the harm in one more? 

The house sounds and feels as if it's been invaded by a small army. It seems as if every person who Kurt has ever met suddenly wants to help or be involved in some way. He'd had to lock himself, Anna, and Ben in his retiring room just to get his wedding robes out of their wrapping.

He won't see Blaine until they meet at the start of the wedding procession.

He is losing his mind, and feels as if he is also losing his grasp on the whole event.

Ben circles him, pinning the layers of lavender—bleeding from almost white to purple at the hem of the garment, a flush of linen over the silk underlay that imitates a blossom when he moves and the robes flare outward. There are purple wildflowers woven through his hair and represented in his jewelry, painted metal wrapped around his ears and neck, all the way down to his collarbone, as well as from his wrists, over his hands and to his fingertips. His eyes are lined in pale lavender, but only just, and there are streaks of sparkly white painted over his cheekbones. The brown and green sandals on his feet are wound up his ankles to mimic plant growth.

He tries to focus on his outfit instead of the rain.

"Deep breaths, Kurt," Anna says, stroking his arm as Ben kneels around him, pinning and tucking. "It's slowing already, and by eleven it should stop."

"And by then the horses will stink, and I'll stink of horse, and—"

Ben slips and jabs him with a pin and he yelps. "Sorry!"

He growls in frustration. "I just want it to be over with!"

"You won't say that when you see Blaine," Ben teases.

"Oh," Kurt breathes, "is he perfect?"

Ben laughs. "He looks like a chocolate-frosted buttercup, just as you intended."

"I'm not sure that you realized my dream if that's how you're describing it."

They all laugh at that, even Kurt.

He shifts with the motion of Ben and Anna's hands, flutters his eyes shut and just—exists, in that fractured space between reality and unreality, where everything is smooth and calm despite the knowledge that their entire world is outside waiting for them and, more importantly, for the words that will signal the end of one era and the beginning of the next.

The thing is, Kurt can wrap his mind around that part of it—but what's making his stomach flip and his heart race is anticipation of Blaine. Of Blaine's hand in his, of seeing that beloved face stretch with the smile that he knows he'll receive when they finally see each other. Of making that walk to the town square and knowing that every step they take puts them one step closer to the rest of their lives together.

It's all happening today, after two years of courtship and a lifetime of waiting.

"Kurt?" Ben asks, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Take a look."

He steps back and focuses his gaze, and for a moment he can't believe that the man in the mirror staring back at him is—him. He looks powerful and beautiful—his robes flowing like water around his body, wide at the shoulder and tiny at the waist, his hair swept up high, stiff as a board with pomade and woven with flowers, the almost-white lavender around his eyes and mouth making them shine, the metal glittering at ears, neck, wrists, and hands, the sash that he wears to show his responsibilities and accomplishments in the form of pins mostly full but with a conspicuously empty place for the badge of leadership that he will receive later today.

He straightens his shoulders and exhales carefully, turning this way and that, the garment tinkling and shifting in the overcast light coming in through the windows.

"You outdid yourself," he says to Ben.

Ben smiles. "I just followed your lead."

"Are you ready?" Anna asks, her arms full of things that Kurt might need to adjust his outfit or appearance once they're outside, a pen slotted over her right ear and her braids neat. She looks gorgeous in the pants and tunic made to match Kurt's. He reaches for her hand.

"You look wonderful," he says. "Let's—let's get moving."

It feels more like floating over the ground than walking, at a certain point. The area just outside of the house stable is abandoned, because almost everyone but Kurt, Blaine, and their prep parties are already either stationed along the procession route—which runs the length of the village all the way to the town hall—or at the town hall building itself.

Kurt sees Blaine's group before he sees the horses in all of their beige and floral finery, and his heart is in his throat before he even sees Blaine himself. 

The world slows down around a vision of Blaine in pale yellow and earthy hazel-brown, walking carefully over the damp gravel with Trent and David behind him. 

He's laughing and graceful on his sandal-wrapped feet, and when he looks up and their eyes meet Kurt feels a sob swell at the back of his throat. He stops, digging his fingers into Anna's forearm and wills the tears away.

"Alright?" she asks.

"He's so beautiful," Kurt whispers, his voice already wrecked.

And then they're looking at each other, and Blaine's eyes glaze over and the laughter dies in his throat, and nothing else exists but the two of them. He looks lovely in his outfit, which is identical to Kurt's but for the color scheme—yellow and hazel where Kurt's is white and lavender.

"If you make me cry and ruin the paint on my face, I will hold you accountable," Blaine says, his voice cracking. 

Kurt laughs and reaches out for his hands. They hold onto each other hard enough to make their knuckles go white, while the horses sidestep and toss their heads behind them.

"Last chance to change your mind about saddling yourself with me forever," Kurt teases, under his breath. 

Blaine shakes his head, and draws one of Kurt's hands to his mouth. "You look so lovely, Kurt."

Kurt laughs, his cheeks warm and his eyes wet. "You too," he replies. "Is it time?"

Trent, who is beaming at them, and obviously trying very hard not to cry, replies, "It's time."

It's only after they've been carefully assisted—the outfits make this necessary—onto the horses that Kurt realizes that everything they'd asked for has been done. The buildings and streets are decorated with the exact floral arrangements and cloth banners that they'd designed. Even the barriers put up to guide and maintain the crowd are the right color. There are young helpers rushing everywhere to distribute gifts of food and trinkets to the people behind the barriers—little wooden dolls that look like Kurt and Blaine even down to their wedding robes, tiny bouquets of flowers tied with lavender and yellow ribbons, rolls of bread with their profiles baked into the surface in the form of colored sugar, toy flutes for the children and distance glasses for the adults.

Trent, David, and Anna as well as a small party of close friends and extended family ride behind them, and at the last second one of Blaine's cousins leads Sam out to join them. He barks, all flower-woven shiny collar and neatly brushed fur, and Kurt laughs to see him proudly circle the horses and settle into a place of honor beside them.

The crowd in front of the town hall is massive and loud. Kurt holds his breath, glances at Blaine, and they share a reassuring smile before sitting up tall in their saddles and beginning to wave. The people go wild at the sight of them, especially as their pages catch up and tokens begin circulating freely among the crowd. 

The entire compound and probably the population of several nearby villages have turned up for the event. There are people on rooftops and hanging out of windows raining flower petals down onto the street—Kurt tilts his head up to watch them jogging to and fro, and laughs in delight.

Even though it's still overcast, sunlight is trying valiantly to peek through the clouds, and the rain has stopped, as Anna predicted.

Kurt is almost numb as he's helped down off of his horse. Blaine takes his hand to loud fanfare, and they walk into the town hall on careful feet. 

The people inside are family and close friends as well as the people that they work with on a daily basis. On the third floor of the building where the contract signing will take place, the assembled group is comprised of family and contract representatives only. 

At the head of the room near the balcony, Blaine's parents and Kurt's family are standing.

For a moment, he holds his breath—his dad is crushing Carole's hand and already glassy-eyed, and Blaine's parents' jaws are tight with the effort to not react, and there is a moment when they're standing across from each other and Blaine's hand is sweating so badly that it slips in his.

Kurt exhales. "We can do this."

It's all happening so quickly. He knows that he's missing details.

Gathered between their families they stare out onto the balcony, where the table sits, holding the contracts and their associated paraphernalia—ink, pens, the needles used to prick their fingers, the cloth to dab the wounds after, and the hand-fasting ribbon sewn with flowers for the vows.

Kurt is sweating profusely. His heart is slamming against his chest and his ears are ringing.

"I shouldn't have turned down that advanced public speaking lesson," he blurts hysterically, clutching Blaine's arm. 

Blaine laughs, all nerves. "Let's just focus on each other, okay?"

When Blaine's parents step up in front of the contract table to the balcony rail, the noise of the crowd washes over them yet again.

Out of sight of the balcony, Burt squeezes Kurt's shoulder.

"If I can do this twice, you can do it once," he says, with a wink.

Blaine grins and ducks his face, and Kurt smiles.

In front of them, Blaine's mother is speaking loudly to the assembled masses.

"...not always what you might expect," she's saying. "Sometimes our expectations are met, but every now and then they are greatly exceeded."

Kurt's face and neck burn, and he can feel Blaine's fingers strangle his.

"In such a case, one can only be grateful," Blaine's father says. "The last two years we have all experienced the joy that Kurt has brought into our lives. It isn't a simple transaction, forming a childhood betrothal, as we all know very well—but this one, from the moment of its inception, shined brightly enough to carry us through a dozen winters. Not only has our family been spoiled by the gift of another son, but also by the gift of a leader who has already begun to prove himself worthy of the title."

"To see Kurt join with our son Blaine, who has served his people well for many years and now steps up to take his proper place as leader, is both a pleasure and a privilege," his mother says. "So without further delay, let us have the contracts."

She steps back with a sweep of her arm, as the contract representative walks up to the table. When he and Blaine step out onto the balcony, the crowd grows noisy again.

The contract representative steps in between them, clears her throat and says to the crowd, "Duty before pleasure, as in all things."

They'd read the contracts in advance, of course, but there is a call for a moment's worth of feigned hesitation for the sake of ceremony. Kurt counts to ten in his head before he writes his name across the bottom of both copies. Blaine does the same.

Kurt barely feels the prick of the ceremonial needle when it jabs the pad of his thumb, but he's fast enough to press the drops of blood that well to the paper before they spill onto his clothes. 

"With this," Blaine's mother says to the crowd and to them, "the mantle of leadership is passed."

The crowd roars, and Kurt feels his knees wobble. He looks out across the hundreds of blurry faces as the sound vibrates the street and the buildings around them.

The leadership pins are affixed to their sashes, Blaine's first and Kurt's second, and they are allowed only a moment to smile and breathe before a different contract representative comes to the table and lifts the hand-fasting ribbon in his hands.

Kurt's heart begins to race all over again. He has dreamed of this moment his whole life.

A new pair of pins are produced, and Blaine steps up to the balcony rail.

Their vows are the one thing that they have kept from each other over the course of planning the wedding. Kurt has no idea what Blaine is about to say. He holds his breath when Blaine turns to look at him as if he's the only other person in the world.

"If I took the time to say everything that I have in my heart for you, our guests would starve before they could celebrate with us," he says, and the crowd laughs.

Kurt smiles, crooked and unsteady, already overwhelmed.

"What is there to say that hasn't already been said?" he asks, turning those wide eyes upward. "I asked myself that question over and over again as I thought about my vows—I wrote poetry that, with any luck, will never be made available for public consumption." The crowd laughs again. "I wasted paper that I should not have, penning speech after speech dedicated to your beauty, to your intelligence, to your strength, to your abilities, and to your love of me. And then I realized that—there is something that I haven't said. There is one question that I haven't asked."

Kurt blinks, his mind racing ahead of him. What does Blaine mean?

Blaine closes the distance between them and cups Kurt's cheek. "Kurt Hummel, will you marry me?"

_Oh._

Kurt inhales sharply, tears welling behind his eyes.

It is only then that he realizes that he had never been asked.

_He had never been asked._

"Yes," he says, wet and thick and broken and so very sure, "yes, I will marry you." 

After the cheering dies down and they take a step away from the rail he adds, so that only Blaine can hear, "How am I supposed to follow that?"

Blaine grins against his ear. "Flawlessly, as you always do."

Blaine has a point. When it's his turn, the words come easily.

"Where I come from, I confess—marriage ceremonies are less grand," he says. "And so, as a child, I dreamed of grander things. I've had my dreams realized in more ways than one today, as you might have noticed." They laugh at his half-joking, half-proud tone. "But I never could have possibly imagined, had I been given a million nights to dream, what my life here would be like." He runs a fingertip over the rose petal strewn contract table, and then lifts his eyes again. "What do you do when your fantasies become reality, and that reality is everything that you have ever wanted, but also comes with the most heavy responsibility of your life?" He smiles, and lifts his hands. "You are thankful, because anything less would be dishonorable. You do your best, because anything less would make you unworthy. And if you are lucky enough, you get to share all of that with someone precious." He reaches out to touch Blaine's cheek, and feels wetness there. "There is no one more precious to me than you, Blaine—and I can't wait to begin sharing this life with you."

While the crowd roars, their untouched thumbs are pricked, and they press their blood to the marriage contracts with glassy eyes and shaking hands. Between them, the contract representative loops the ribbon over and around their hands, Blaine's left over Kurt's right over Blaine's right over Kurt's left, tying the ribbon into a knot beneath their wrists.

Kurt can feel the collective breath of the crowd being held, and then the representative steps back and says, "With this, these two are legally wed."

The din is ten times what it was before.

Even though it isn't part of the ceremony, Kurt leans in close. He can see the surprise in Blaine's eyes just before he seals their mouths together.

The shouting hurts his ears, but all he can feel is Blaine's mouth warm against his and the wetness of tears on their cheeks as he tilts his head and parts his lips and, using nothing more than the strength of his torso, as their hands are still bound, bends Blaine back against the table's.

Blaine laughs. "Kurt!"

When he pulls away, the contract representative snips the still-knotted ribbon from their wrists as Blaine stares at him, wide-eyed and well-kissed.

A curtain falls between the balcony and the room, hushing the crowd.

 

*

 

The adrenaline rush ends moments later, and Blaine comes to understand why there are chairs inside of the balcony. His knees give out just as the cushion is inched beneath him. His head is buzzing and his skin crawling and he can't breathe, which is a first for someone who has grown up in front of that crowd. But that had been almost too much at once, and—

Kurt is his husband.

He uses whatever grace that he has left to bring Kurt's hands to his mouth, to kiss and stroke those sweaty, trembling fingers until he feels grounded again.

"We're married," he says.

"We're married," Kurt replies, bent over their joined hands. 

Their family swarms around them, a blur of colors and bodies and formal wear.

Kurt is being engulfed by his family and Blaine's parents, who are far more used to ceremony than they, stand beside Blaine's chair, one of each of their hands on his shoulders.

His mother bends to kiss his cheek. "Well done, my son."

His father says, "We're very proud of you both."

Feeling more in control of himself, he greets Kurt's family, which ends with Burt hugging him and saying, "Thank you for being everything that he dreamed of and more."

He tears up again at that, but his parents are already guiding their party downstairs, so he isn't permitted the time to lose himself again.

Outside in the town square, the party has already begun.

The family and guests-of-the-family portion of the party is sectioned off from the public seating area simply to keep things organized.

Kurt and Blaine stand between Blaine's parents as the other family members are seated.

Everything is running smoothly—music is being played on a raised stage, the public food tables are uncovered and serving lines of people, drink servers are rotating through the crowd, and roaming entrainment (jugglers, tricksters, and bards) are keeping everyone occupied. 

"First, we must greet the other province representatives. It's important to do so before we sit. It's a gesture of respect," Blaine says to Kurt.

The first thing that catches Blaine's eye is the empty table.

Blaine's mother is stiff beside him. "The Crawfords did not come."

"There must be an explanation," Blaine says.

"Now isn't the time to wonder, unfortunately. Let's begin."

Without the Crawfords (agriculture and livestock) present, it doesn't take long to introduce Kurt to the rest of the province representatives: the head of the Sea Traders (a round young woman with black hair and blue eyes), the leader of the manufacturing/industrial province (a tall, thin older gentleman with dark wrinkled skin and white hair who grunts at them but then declares the Hummel designs "some of the best to ever grace our industry", which leads to Burt being politely ushered up to the front to take over with him when Kurt and Blaine move on), and the current head of the City Traders (a stocky middle-aged gentleman who looks as if he's been through more than one toxic wasteland in his life). The conversations are polite and to the point, and before long they are seated at the head of the table.

"The family that didn't show—isn't that a great insult?" Kurt asks.

"Sometimes things happen to prevent travel. We won't be sure until we've spoken to them."

"Should we be worrying about this?"

"Not tonight, Kurt, no," Blaine says, lacing his hand with the one that Kurt has on his knee.

Kurt glances down the table—Trent and David are sitting together across from Anna.

"They aren't our chaperones anymore, are they?"

Blaine smiles. "Our courtship is over."

"I know, it's just so strange," Kurt says. "My mind is jumping all over the place. And I'm starving."

Laughing, Blaine says, "Well. Let's take care of that, then, shall we?"

It's with a profound sense of the changing of things that Blaine lifts the bell that his mother has always used to cue course changes and rings it himself, loud and clear.

 

*

 

Dancing at his wedding is something that Kurt has always dreamed about. But by the time that they reach that part of the festivities, he has to admit that he's feeling the drag of having been up since before dawn.

Thankfully, there is nothing formal about the dancing—they have both already taken turns with their immediate family, direct reports, and province guests—so once they finally get to wrap their arms around each other, they can simply enjoy casually swaying to the music.

"Those Sea Traders know how to cut a rug," Kurt says, playfully.

Blaine laughs, and buries his face in Kurt's neck. "Did your dad start crying again when he danced with you?"

"Yes," Kurt says. "Yours?"

"They both did, yes," Blaine answers. "Seeing us married and handing over leadership in one day must have been a lot for them."

They dance together for four full songs, until Blaine begins to grow heavy in his arms. 

"Are you tired, sweetheart?" he asks.

"I didn't sleep at all last night," Blaine answers.

"I managed a few hours before sunrise, but barely." 

Kurt rests his cheek on Blaine's hair. The rose petals still clinging to his curls are crushed and giving off a too-sweet, cloying scent. Kurt breathes it in and feels very much at home.

"Are we taking a transport to the cabin tonight?" Blaine asks, his voice tired but also thick with something else entirely that makes the hairs on Kurt's arms stand up.

He grins into Blaine's hair. "Does being alone with me make you nervous, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine laughs, curling his fingers into the tunic between Kurt's shoulder blades. "I just wanted to know what you prefer."

"I want to go to the cabin," Kurt says, mouthing at his earlobe. "I want to be alone with my husband tonight, and every night for the next thirty days. Does that answer your question?"

Blaine inhales sharply. "Yes." 

The beauty of the wedding feast is that their part in it is technically over—Blaine's family is expected to handle their guests, compound and otherwise, and as there is no gift exchange at ruling family weddings, they have no reason to stay any longer.

After they finish dancing, Kurt finds Anna.

"I don't suppose that coffee would be possible?" he asks her. "We're going to head off tonight."

She grins. "Going for it, huh?"

"Gone this far already," he says, grinning back at her. "Thank you."

Lucy, his tutor—or ex-tutor, he supposes—taps his shoulder and then drags him into a tight hug.

"Finally got you alone!" she says. "Congratulations, Kurt."

"It's so good to see you," he replies, hugging her a second time. "It feels like forever since we last saw each other." She's been off-compound almost all Spring, and he had worried that she might not make it back in time for the wedding. 

"So many little heads to fill with so much knowledge," she says, with a fond shrug and a smile, and then she elbows him. "I can't believe that you two are still here. Take my advice? Before the spirits start flowing is the best time to escape. Once everyone is intoxicated they'll want to talk to you and dance with you and spew sentiments all over you."

"An excellent point," he says. "We're definitely on our way out."

"Well," she says, winking at him. "Enjoy."

All that's left to do now is speak with Anna and say goodbye to their families and friends.

He finds her again, happy to see that she has his coffee. He chugs half a mug before thanking her, and she laughs when he coughs and comes up for air.

"Double strength," she says. "The transport is ready if you and Blaine are."

"Do you need anything from me before I go?"

She smiles. "Kurt, I've had everything that I need for months. Go on. Get out of here."

He hugs her. "Thank you, Anna. I'll be able to relax knowing that you're here in my place."

"Just doing my job," she says, but she's blushing, and he winks at her before he lets her go. 

He finds Blaine with their families. He smiles, feeling invigorated by the caffeine, and slides his arms around Blaine's waist from behind.

"There you are," Blaine says, relaxing into him.

From the look and smell of it, their families have already requested spirits. His dad is laughing and twirling Carole, and Finn is stumbling over his intended's feet, cackling and apologizing.

Kurt smiles fondly at them all.

"Is it that time?" Blaine's mother asks.

Kurt shares a glance with Blaine. "I think so."

The light is fading around them, daytime noises becoming nighttime ones, and around the square and down the street lights are being lit on building fronts and street structures. Special candles are lit to ward off insects and in certain places, especially around the food trays, bug netting is set out. Children are shuffled off to sleep, and drink servers begin to circulate spirits freely.

Burt and Carole stop dancing when they notice Kurt and Blaine, and Kurt isn't surprised when his father hugs him tightly enough to leave bruises.

"When did you grow up, huh? Look at you," he says, a little drunk. "So proud, Kurt. Your mom would have been—" Carole gently takes his arm, interrupting him with a squeeze of her hand.

Kurt appreciates her sensitivity, but strangely enough that's the one thought that hasn't made him sad today—he's done his mom proud, and that's all that matters now.

"It's okay," he says, hugging them again. "I'm happy, and I know that she would have been, too, but...we're here. You're here, so enjoy the party, and stay as long as you can."

Finn comes up behind him and squeezes all four of them into a hug. "Congrats, little brother."

The only thing left to do after that is remove some of their accessories. Kurt doesn't want to fuss over delicate things once they're alone but, more importantly, he wants to preserve their wedding outfits. They carefully remove and pack up everything that they're wearing with the exception of the under layers. They wash the paint off of their faces—at least as much as they can get off with just soap and hot water—and then change into sturdier sandals.

Before long, they're slipping hand in hand through the dark streets, all the way back to the manor where their transport is waiting for them.

Trent and David are standing beside the vehicle, arms crossed and smiles wide.

"Well, well, well," Trent drawls. "I suppose we've outgrown our use."

Blaine laughs and throws his arms around Trent's shoulders. "Never."

Kurt hugs David, and then they switch. "Don't think that you're getting away with less work just because we no longer need to be watched like naughty children."

"Oh, give me a full additional workload to be rid of prying you off of each other every few hours," David moans.

Kurt grins. "No one is more relieved than we are, my friends."

"So now that we've reached the not-so-bitter end, tell me; did you truly abstain all of this time?" Trent asks, one hand on Blaine's shoulder and one on Kurt's.

"You haven't been betting again, have you?" Kurt asks.

"Never again; I've learned my lesson. I am simply curious."

Blaine looks at Kurt, who shrugs and then says, "We truly did."

They stare at Kurt and Blaine in awe, and then David breathes, "Incredible."

"Or lies," Trent says.

Kurt shoots him a sharp look. "Do we act as if we've enjoyed the pleasure of indulgence?"

"I suppose you have a point there."

Trent squeezes their arms before letting them go. "We won't delay you any further. We just wanted to say congratulations."

Blaine smiles. "Thank you. You made a difficult situation easier, and we won't forget that."

Sam, who has been circling Trent and David's feet, gets a thorough petting and several cooing goodbyes before Kurt and Blaine let him go.

"Do we know the driver?" Kurt asks.

"She's a villager who was hired to help today—I don't know her personally."

If Kurt wasn't exhausted, he would have wanted to drive them himself. As it stands, he's only too grateful to sprawl across the backseat and do nothing.

Their belongings have gone ahead of them, so all that's left is to share a few friendly words with the driver. The privacy screen goes up, and they're on the road in seconds.

It's dark outside of the transport, and the moment that Kurt's body adjusts to the pleasant curve of the seat cushions, he feels the stresses of the day begin to bleed out of him. The rocking motion of the transport makes his eyelids dip—the coffee that he'd had isn't doing much to keep him awake.

"So tired," he says, reaching for Blaine's hand.

"Me too," Blaine says, his head wobbling as he laces their hands on the seat between them. "I think it might be best if we slept through the drive, hm?"

"I love you," he says, already half-asleep. "Today was perfect, and I—just love you, so much."

"Was it everything you dreamed of when you were little?"

"Better—because it was real. Because it was you," Kurt says.

The last thing that Kurt sees is the curve of Blaine's smile, striped in the shadows of passing trees.

 

*

 

Kurt realizes that he's waking up on his feet, which is an odd feeling.

He hears voices, feels air on his skin, smells grass and pine, and then there's a blast of orange light that makes his squinting eyes shut. He turns, even as his feet move, and feels Blaine's stubble-covered cheek against his face. Blaine's arm is around his waist, both guiding him and holding him up.

"Blaine?" he asks, disoriented and lost, and for a moment he doesn't understand why he wants to make his limbs move so badly, or why it's vitally important that he understands where they are.

He fists one hand in the hair at the back of Blaine's head, and the other in the soft wedding robe between Blaine's shoulder blades, and without any thought at all his open mouth finds Blaine's.

"Blaine," he moans, and hears an answering whimper. The hand that he has on Blaine's shoulder slides to the front of Blaine's robe, catches on the tie just above his clavicle and tugs. "Are we...?"

Blaine moans something that could mean literally anything, and the door slams shut under the force of their body weight as they slump back against it. 

Blaine's tongue surges past his lips.

The reactions of his body begin to catch up with the reactions of his mind. He groans, and loops his forearms around Blaine's neck as their bodies press together.

He wakes up as they kiss. They're alone and they're married and Blaine is kissing him.

His fingers begin frantically tugging at the ties on Blaine's robe.

"W-wait," Blaine gasps.

Kurt's hazy, urgent thoughts can't quite wrap around that concept, but he blinks the glare from his eyes and sees Blaine properly for the first time since he fell asleep in the transport. Blaine looks tired—the last vestiges of wedding makeup and styling cracked and fading on his face and in his hair, and the wrinkle or two that he has at the corner of his eyes and mouth very pronounced.

"Sorry," Kurt rasps. "I just assumed that you'd want to—"

"Oh, god, no, it's not that," Blaine says, shuddering. "I—before we—" He takes Kurt by the waist again, turns him toward the kitchen of the cabin—Kurt will take it all in later—and on the table and half of its chairs there are dozens of scrolls and paper packets. The pile looks so out of place, and its presentation feels so random, that Kurt has no idea what Blaine is trying to tell him. "This is everything that we have on biology related to sexuality—of men, between men, and also carriers—it's—not a complete collection, but it covers all of the basic technicalities. Before we do anything, I wanted to offer you the chance to understand it first. I'll wait, until you're ready, if—"

_Oh._

It's so sweet, so _Blaine_ , that Kurt can't stop the affectionate laughter that rumbles out of him when he realizes what Blaine is trying to say. 

He is so very lucky to be married to this man.

He reaches up after a moment's pause and begins undoing the ties of his wedding robe. 

Blaine's eyes flick down to the motion of his fingers, his lips parting.

"Blaine," he says, letting his tone soften, "I appreciate this gesture more than I can say right now. But I don't need information tonight. I just need you." 

One by one by one the ties fall limp under his fingers, and when they're undone to his knees he shrugs the robe off of his shoulders, steps out of it, and drapes it over the nearest piece of furniture. Beneath it, there's an under tunic and pants, and he shrugs out of the tunic, shivering at the rush of cool air over his warm, sweat-tacky skin.

Blaine's jaw goes soft, and then drops. Kurt can see his fingers twitch.

"Surprise me now," Kurt breathes, wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck. "Teach me later."

"God," Blaine whines, putting his hands around Kurt's naked back. "God, sweetheart, let me—just let me—please." He drags his rough fingertips up and down Kurt's sides, to the waistband of his loose pants, where they catch and tug but fail to do anything. 

Kurt is caught off-guard a moment later when Blaine's hands close around the backs of his thighs, hold on tight and then lift him up. He wraps his legs around Blaine's waist, and thinks that there is far too much space between the front door and the bedroom. He falls as much as Blaine puts him down on the end of the bed, laughing and flushed.

"That was very impressive," he says, walking his fingers down the front of Blaine's tunic, loosening its ties along the way.

"Thank god this cabin isn't any larger," Blaine replies, grinning.

Kurt inches toward the middle of the bed, and Blaine crawls after him on his hands and knees. When Kurt is far back enough to lie down he does so, with Blaine hovering over him.

There are dim electric lamps lit in the bedroom, which Kurt has absolutely no interest in paying attention to beyond noting that the bed itself is large and comfortable.

He stares up at Blaine, pushes the unlaced tunic off of his shoulders with unsteady fingers, and then helps him lift it off.

Blaine's olive-toned skin is smooth and his nipples are hard. Kurt's mouth floods with saliva. He puts his hands on Blaine's collarbone, and then drags two fingertips down from his breastbone to his bellybutton, watching his torso heave with breath.

He fingers the cinched waistband of Blaine's loose trousers.

"Take your sandals off?" he asks, embarrassed when his voice breaks. Blaine hurries to do so, and takes off his sandals as well, gently peeling the leather from his dusty ankles and feet.

"We're filthy," he says.

"I don't care," Kurt says.

"You are so beautiful." He straddles Kurt's hips and puts two hands on Kurt's bare chest.

"I want to touch you," Kurt says, drawing his fingernails up and down Blaine's ribs.

Blaine reaches down, takes one of his hands, brings it to his mouth and begins frantically kissing the back of his knuckles, the side of his palm, and the lengths of his fingers. "I am the luckiest man in the world. You make me so happy. No matter what we do in this bed, I want you to know that first."

"You know that I feel the same way." He smiles, a little slyly, and adds, "I'm going to take your pants off now."

Blaine laughs.

Kurt takes the drawstring between two fingertips and tugs it, feeling the waistband of the pants give way. A wriggle and a lift of Blaine's knees and they're gone, and Kurt breathes in sharply at the sight of Blaine naked over him, hairy thighs and a thick, flushed penis that's listing to the left.

To cover up his hesitation, he strokes Blaine's hips and the pouch of his belly and asks, "Is there a lay term, for—for—I do not want to sound like an anatomy lesson."

Blaine watches Kurt watch him. "Um—cock? I suppose, if we're going for simple, I mean there are dozens of crude, humorous, offensive...words, if you like, but—cock—is alright?"

Kurt feels a blush spill over his face and neck and ears. He is both embarrassed and aroused by the sound of the word. "Okay. May I...?"

"God, yes, please."

Blaine hisses when Kurt's hand wraps around his cock and tugs it straight. That alone is enough to make it throb in his hand.

"Oh," he says, thumbing the tip and stroking back down the shaft. "I did that."

"Oh my god," Blaine gasps, falling forward onto one hand, hovering over Kurt's body. "Please."

Blaine stiffens in his hand, the skin that hugs the head of his cock rolling back. He grows hotter, and the head flushes dark as Kurt's hand moves up and down. Kurt is as fascinated as he is aroused—he's seen his own like this, of course, but he's never touched it, not like this, and he has no idea what's going to happen.

"Let me touch you, too," Blaine says, pulsing in his fist. "Let me show you what it feels like."

Kurt balances his weight on one hand behind him as he lets Blaine peel the cloth from his hips and legs. His cock springs free the moment that it's clear of the waistband of his pants, flopping heavily against his thigh. Blaine sits over his legs, and they shift closer together.

Blaine kisses him, and wraps his hand around Kurt's cock.

"Oh," Kurt gasps, twitching. "Oh, oh."

Blaine smiles into his jaw, and then kisses him again, harder. "Kiss me. Kiss me, and just let yourself enjoy the way it feels, okay?"

"I—okay." 

His hand is stalled on Blaine's cock. He doesn't know what to do, now that Blaine is touching him. Should he continue? Should he stop? Are they supposed to take turns?

Kurt slides one hand into Blaine's hair and tugs him down into a kiss, and then continues tugging until their hips are slotted together and their legs are tangled.

Blaine gasps when Kurt thrusts up against him.

"I want to feel you against me, the way we used to only—like this," Kurt says, spearing Blaine's mouth with his tongue. "Is that alright?"

"Yes, love, just let me get my hand around us, okay? Need to feel you."

It's almost too much; Kurt presses his face into Blaine's shoulder and stares down their naked bodies, at the glide of their cocks side by side in Blaine's big hand. Blaine strokes them as if he's done this a thousand times, confidently and rapidly.

Heat pools in Kurt's groin, making him want to spread his legs. " _Blaine_ —"

It's happening, and he can let it happen. They don't have to stop.

Blaine catches Kurt's trembling mouth under his. "I know. I know, love, I know, just let go."

"Isn't it too f-fast?" 

His cock is throbbing, and he can feel the urgency just a few strokes away from breaking.

Blaine pants against his jaw. "No. Come in my hand, sweetheart. Just like this."

The knots unravel, and before Kurt can get ahead of it the pleasure spills in warm rushes, stealing up his spine and down his thighs and in between his legs, and oh—oh, that is—

Intense relief, pulsing out of him in wet gushes, painting their thighs and bellies and cocks.

Blaine is suckling down his throat, and easing their cocks together through the mess. He has no idea what the purpose of this stuff is, but the messy feel of it, and the barely there smell of it, is making everything feel urgent again. His cock throbs, spent but still hard.

Kurt pushes a trembling hand between them. "Can I do that to you?" He stares into Blaine's eyes.

"Kurt," Blaine whimpers, rutting against his fingers. "Please. Yes."

It takes a while longer, and Kurt plays with it, changing his grip, changing the speed of his hand, stopping every now and then to twist the clearly sensitive tip. He watches Blaine rock in and out of his fist, watches Blaine's tight, muscled body shimmer brown and sweaty in the lamplight, his face twisted and shoulders tense. He is stunning like this, so lovely that Kurt can't breathe around how perfect he is, his hips snapping into Kurt's fist and his throat opening up around moans and whines and gasps.

Kurt knows when he gets close because he begins to start and stop, and he's so—swollen, his cock puffed up red and tight and hard.

"Oh," he moans, stroking Kurt's hair, kissing Kurt's face, "Oh, god, I'm so close." He reaches down to rearrange Kurt's fingers a little. "Harder, and faster. You won't hurt me."

That seems to do the trick.

When he comes, it's so much that Kurt's belly all but disappears under ropes of it. His cock grows fully hard again at the sight, his skin coated and Blaine sobbing under his breath, rocking on his knees, pulling at Kurt's hair and biting down on his shoulder.

He sweeps his fingers through the mess and tastes it. It's bitter-salty and unlike anything that he's had on his tongue before but he likes it, and is busily licking another smear off of his finger when Blaine notices him doing it and surges forward to kiss the whiteness between their mouths. 

"Sweetheart—god, you're covered in it—"

"I'm hard again. Is that normal?"

Blaine growls, and begins kissing down his come-slicked torso—between his ribs, down his sides, over the sharp curve of his hip, down the flat of a hairy thigh, and then back up again, licking his come from Kurt's skin and exploring him both at the same time.

He closes his lips around Kurt's nipple and Kurt collapses onto the pillows behind him, tangling his fingers in Blaine's hair, which is coming apart in corkscrews and tufts. He thrashes when Blaine switches to the other nipple, wanting desperately to grind his cock against something.

"I want to use my mouth on you," Blaine rasps, from in between his legs.

"What—what does that mean?"

"You did say that you wanted to be surprised," Blaine teases, sucking kisses into his hips.

The urgency surges, making him wonder why he had even asked—what does it matter when Blaine is kissing his legs, his knees, pressing them apart and sliding in between them and licking the sweat from around his belly button? 

Blaine looks crazed, nuzzling and sucking like there's something beneath Kurt's skin that he wants desperately to get at, and Kurt understands the desire if not the direction. If he weren't so overwhelmed he'd be doing the same to Blaine right now—

Except Blaine is burying his face against Kurt's cock, and oh—

Kurt wonders how much of the starving look on Blaine's face is for him, and how much is for the years that Blaine has gone without this, but that doesn't seem to matter—he's rubbing his rough cheek up and down Kurt's pink, hard cock, his eyes slitted like a cat in heat's. But it's only when Blaine licks around the head of his cock that Kurt realizes what "use my mouth" really means.

"Oh god, oh—my god, but—I w-won't—fit," he gasps, as the tip of his cock disappears in between Blaine's plump, red lips.

Blaine breathes warm over the sensitive crown, "You are a big boy, that's true. These past two years, feeling you under your clothes, feeling how long and thick you were—but you don't have to worry about that. You'll fit." He licks, and licks, and licks, until Kurt has to stop himself from trying to push back inside of his mouth. "Make you fit, take every inch—god, you taste so good."

"P-please, please," Kurt whines, his dirty belly heaving. 

It's like torture, the open-mouthed kisses sucked up and down the shaft of his cock, the lash of that wet, wriggling tongue around the head—and then, finally, pressure, rough and slick and almost too much. Kurt cries out, his legs spreading like wings out along either side of his body as Blaine swallows him down.

"Blaine," he sobs.

It only takes a few bobbing passes, Blaine's hair in his hands, moving over his lap, that mouth sucking, sucking, sucking, full of tongue and smooth cheek and the faintest scrape of teeth over the head, enough to leave him whining and thrusting. 

"Can I, is that—can I come? Please, need to—"

"Yes, you can come in my mouth—want you to, want to swallow it," Blaine gasps, and then dives down again. Kurt grips the back of his head and does it, thrusts deep into his mouth, into his welcoming throat, and comes so hard that colors spiral behind his eyelids.

It's more sensation than physical result—his cock throbs until he can't feel anything but the ragged pull and push of air in and out of his lungs.

Blaine stays there, licking him, kissing him, until he's as soft as a kitten on his thigh.

"I could do that, if you—showed me—" he pants.

Blaine presses his cheek against Kurt's thigh. "Not as young as you, love. No need just yet."

"Oh. Of course. Um. Sorry."

He crawls up Kurt's body and Kurt reaches for him before he gets there, pulling him in. Kurt loves the sweaty warm feel of him, hairy and soft over hard muscle, and he presses his face into the curve of Blaine's neck and just breathes, relaxed, for the first time since they arrived here.

He waits, and then says, his lips curling, "Lovely cabin. I think."

Blaine laughs into his throat. "Inspection tomorrow. Very thorough."

"White gloves and all."

Blaine shifts back to look at him. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt's naked shoulders convulse with laughter. "Amazing. Spent. Curious. Having the feeling that this was just the beginning."

"Thirty days," Blaine says, kissing open-mouthed into his throat, sucking at the pulse point there and then nipping all the way to Kurt's ear, where he teases the lobe as he presses Kurt down into the bed. "Anything you want. Whenever you want it."

Groaning, Kurt bites at Blaine's neck and rolls them over, pressing Blaine's arms into the pillows above his head. "I just want to look at you. Can I...?"

Kurt takes his time, sitting on Blaine's knees and just gazing, edging the pads of his fingers over his skin, over the dips and valleys of his body.

"What came out of you," he says, pressing Blaine's nipples between his fingertips. "What was that?"

"That is what happens when we have an orgasm. It's what allows me to impregnate you."

_Oh._

"And mine is...?"

"Sterile. Other than that, no different."

He blushes, rubbing the soft spot on Blaine's stomach. "Swallowing it wouldn't...um, I can't get—"

Blaine smiles, and strokes his thighs. "No, love."

Kurt sits down fully, letting Blaine's legs take his weight. He closes his eyes and feels for Blaine's hands, relaxing happily when Blaine laces their fingers in midair.

"We're married," he says. "We're married and we just had sex, and it was amazing." He laughs, pressing his face into Blaine's hands.

"All true," Blaine says, stroking his fingers. "You're exhausted, aren't you?"

Kurt nods. "Can we rinse off? I'm not awake enough to bathe, but..."

They take turns at the tap, just to get the sex and sweat and dust off of their bodies, and then it's into pajamas that are laid out on the dresser. They tumble into bed and under the covers, Kurt rolling over on top of Blaine, kneading the curve of his ass as they kiss, sleepy and sated.

He falls asleep in between two kisses, too exhausted to even let go of Blaine.

 

*

 

Blaine wakes up to fingers tracing his hip bone.

Kurt's breath is hot against the shell of his ear, and those gorgeous, long fingers are dragging his tunic up around his belly. He feels rested, aroused, and deliciously exposed, especially when Kurt stares down at him, licks his morning-chapped lips, and traces a fingertip over the skin that's still hiding the head of his cock. He lets out a content noise, and spreads his legs.

God, it's been years. 

It's been—a lifetime, really, because no man has ever touched him the way that Kurt does. 

He throbs, fills as Kurt explores his cock from tip to shaft to balls, lifting the heavy, warm weight of them and rolling them in his palm before going back to the thickness above. Blaine arches his back when Kurt finally begins pulling at him.

"Would you lie on top of me?" he asks, breathing heavily, because he wants more.

Kurt rolls over onto him, and Blaine reaches between them to line them up properly, hooking one leg around Kurt's waist and the other higher, up around his back, before sinking one hand into his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.

"We can rub together, and come that way," he explains, gasping when Kurt wriggles on top of him. It's almost perfect. 

He glances at the bedside table, happy to find a ceramic pot of lotion there. In fact, there's probably a pot of the stuff on almost every surface in the cabin, if he recalls his glances around from the night before correctly.

"What's that?" Kurt asks.

"Lubricant. To slow things down, and make it smoother."

Kurt smiles. "That's clever."

Blaine reaches between them to smear the creamy white lotion up and down their cocks.

Kurt groans. "Oh, that is—interesting. Does this feel as good for you as it does for me?"

"Yes," Blaine whines, watching Kurt's long, muscled back flex, from his shoulder blades to his spine to the dip and on all the way to the pert curve of his glorious ass. 

Kurt's cheeks are pink and his forehead is bright with fresh sweat, his eyes a shade of blue-gray so deep that Blaine could drown in them. He breathes out with difficulty, staring into those beautiful eyes as Kurt thrusts against him faster, dragging the stiff curves of their cocks together. 

"I want you to come first this time," Kurt says.

"Okay," he replies, dragging a hand down Kurt's back. He readjusts his hips to get Kurt's cock against his better, the head knocking just up underneath his with their foreskin now rolled fully back. "Just like that," he gasps, lifting his hips. 

Kurt kisses and nibbles him in all of the sensitive places that he knows so well: just below Blaine's ear, over his Adam's apple, and beneath the hinge of his jaw. Blaine ruts faster, making the bed sway as their pelvises swivel, creating an extra twist at the end of every pass.

He moans, his fingernails digging into the curve of Kurt's ass. "Keep doing that."

Kurt flattens his body over Blaine's, presses his open mouth to Blaine's neck and sucks, hard, slamming their pelvises together roughly—and that's all it takes. 

Blaine whines and spills, his cock jerking against Kurt's belly. 

"Too wet," Kurt pants, pushing up on his hands. "Can't feel anything."

Still reeling, Blaine rolls them over and spreads Kurt out beneath him, kissing him. "Mm, let me."

Blaine's mouth is wet with the hunger to do it again, to feel that gorgeous, hard flesh stretching his mouth. He sinks down the bed and takes it in the second that he gets there, letting his jaw relax as he sinks down. Kurt cries out and puts a hand in his hair, twitching with the restraint to not press down as Blaine bobs, licks, and groans around his mouthful.

It's so good—a cock in his mouth, pulsing and hard and warm, edging toward his throat with every upward push. He wraps his hands around Kurt's hips and takes it as fast and as deep as he can. Kurt's knees bend, and he begins thrusting up despite his best efforts not to.

"Oh, god, that feels good," he gasps, watching his cock drive in and out of Blaine's mouth. "Looks—amazing, you're—amazing—" His head falls back and he whimpers, his fingers threading through Blaine's hair. "I—need to learn how to—last—"

Blaine laughs, pulling off to breathe and maybe, impishly, to watch Kurt's hips twitch up, begging for more. "I can stop, to let you back down, if you want."

Kurt whines. "But it feels wonderful."

"That is definitely the conflict, isn't it?" he asks, bending his head to lick at Kurt's retracted foreskin. He sucks, open-mouthed, down the shaft, then up again, then down, and when he takes Kurt's left testicle into his mouth and licks it, Kurt lets out a surprised noise.

"Oh my god, what are you—will any part of me respond when you use your mouth that way?"

He grins, rolling the firmness against his tongue before repeating the process on the other. "Mm, there is hardly a spot on you that I couldn't excite, given time, I think." He nibbles just under the bow of the head of Kurt's cock, then drags the tip of his tongue through the gaping slit. "You did say you wanted to slow down? I could do this all day." He suckles the engorged crown, swirling his tongue around it while his hand pumps the shaft.

"I don't need to last that long, do I?" Kurt asks, panting and laughing.

"That would be a bit much." He pulls off again, just to tease.

"Please," Kurt whines, stroking his neck. "Please, I want to come."

He's so close that he'd probably go off at a single stroke.

That thought gives Blaine pause, and he stops yet again. "Give me your hand?"

"W-what?"

"Just—let me show you?"

Kurt offers his right hand, and Blaine takes it and wraps it around Kurt's cock.

"Oh," Kurt moans. "Oh, oh—what?"

"No one ever explained this to you," Blaine says, his eyes fixed on the sight of Kurt's hand around himself. "But you can—you can pleasure yourself, Kurt. You can bring yourself to orgasm. You don't need anyone else."

"Oh my god, you—I—are you—" Kurt babbles, his cock and balls pulsing. "Oh, god, _Blaine_ —"

He comes in his own hand, sobbing. Blaine watches his balls tighten and convulse, watches the throb travel from the base of his cock to the head, the shaft's veins and ridges standing out to the tune of a heartbeat as he shoots over his fingers.

"You don't have to have sex with someone, to have an orgasm?" Kurt gasps.

Blaine licks at Kurt's softening sac, unable to stop himself. The sweat there is clean and tangy, and the way that he smells is intoxicating. He does the same at the crease of Kurt's groin and thigh, around the base of his cock, and through the wiry thatch of his pubic hair.

"No, you don't."

"I could have—all this time—"

Looking properly ashamed, Blaine presses his cheek to Kurt's hip. "I'm sorry. Your father never told you, and I wasn't sure where to draw the line in terms of what to share. As time passed, it just seemed simpler to say nothing and wait instead for the chance to say everything."

After a moment, Kurt smirks, cards a hand through Blaine's hair and says, "Well, we'll just have to undo the whole thing now—I don't need you after all, it seems."

"Let's not be hasty," Blaine says, laughing, crawling up Kurt's body, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. "I think that I can convince you otherwise." 

 

*

 

It's almost noon by the time that they roll out of bed, and Kurt feels scatterbrained in the best way possible.

He feels aches in muscles that he hadn't even realized he had possessed. He thinks that he has never seen anything more beautiful than Blaine sexually satisfied, his hair a puffy riot and his body scratched and bruised. 

He also feels the need for a moment of privacy, and so he tells Blaine to begin the cabin inspection while he bathes. He feels different. Sore and stretched and silly all over, like someone has scraped the top layer of his skin off and left him new and pink and sensitive all over. He thinks he likes it.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink as the bath fills, and stops to stare in wonder—if Blaine is a mess, he himself is truly disheveled. His hair is standing up in a dozen directions, his throat and chest and hips are covered in bruises and fingernail marks, and his body hair is caked with sweat and fluids.

He doesn't mind any of this much at all, but he does desperately want to be clean.

The bath water is deliciously hot, and the soap and oils that are at hand are of the highest quality. The towel that he wraps around his waist after he finishes his bath is as soft as a puppy's skin, and he sighs in pleasure at the fine robe and slippers that are set by the door.

He finds Blaine in the kitchen, working his way through a plate of flat breads and cheese and cold sausage like a man on a mission. He intends to poke fun, until he smells the food.

"I am starving," he says, and tucks in just as shamelessly.

"Mmph," Blaine says, clearly not willing to talk with his mouth full.

They devour probably a day's worth of food in one sitting. By the time that they're done, the table looks as if it's hosted a dinner party instead of two newlyweds on the morning after their wedding.

"What do we do when the food runs out?" Kurt asks, sitting with his hands over his swollen belly.

"There's a cold storage unit a couple of miles down the road. Once a week we'll receive a delivery. We can request things if we want. Other than that it's just two horses and us up here."

"No transports?"

"No viable through-roads," Blaine answers, smiling. "Sorry."

"You love it; don't even try to pretend."

Blaine laughs. "Entirely coincidental."

After breakfast, they explore the cabin. It's only slightly larger than the one that Kurt had occupied his first year on the compound, though it has an extra bathroom and bedroom, and the accommodations and tech are more upscale. 

That done, they get dressed and go outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Do you think we should have brought Sam? He would have loved it up here," Kurt says.

The clearing around the cabin is huge, and on its right side there's a small lake that is obviously man-made, though it fits the natural landscape very well. Afternoon sun glints off of the water. Kurt blinks as a warm breeze knocks his hair sideways. The grasses are green and brown and sweet, the flowers are in full bloom, and there's a small stable on the other side of the lake. 

They're at a higher elevation and he can feel it, as easily as he can feel how isolated this place is.

He puts his arm around Blaine's waist and walks them toward the lake.

"He would have, but he also would have required care and attention," Blaine says, kissing Kurt's cheek. "I'd much rather focus on you."

"How long has this been here?"

"A very long time, but we lost the cabin to a rock slide about twenty years ago. It had to be rebuilt. That's when they decided to add the lake and the stable."

"It's beautiful."

Blaine smiles. "What would you like to do?"

"Walk a little," Kurt says. "I feel like I have two year's worth of dust to shake loose from my head."

So they walk. 

Kurt feels whole and rested for the first time since he moved to the compound, out here in the middle of nowhere with Blaine by his side. Even though there is so much more to their lives than each other, being together in this moment is all that really seems to matter.

They loop around the lake, and stop on the opposite shore. Kurt shows Blaine how to skip rocks, with a good deal of unnecessary physical assistance, which leads to Blaine's arms around his shoulders, and Blaine's mouth on his as the wind kicks up their hair and clothing.

When he pulls away his eyes are wet, and Blaine touches his cheek. "What's the matter?"

"I keep waiting to wake up," he says, taking Blaine's face in his hands. "Please don't be a dream."

Blaine smiles, flattens his hands against Kurt's collarbone and kisses him.

They walk back to the cabin. Neither of them are hungry enough for supper, so they curl up in an armchair large enough for two, and Blaine once again reminds Kurt that he's welcome to begin reading the educational papers whenever he feels like it.

"Not yet," Kurt says, tucking himself into Blaine's arms. "I will read them, of course." He smiles, nuzzling his face into Blaine's neck. "But I am enjoying your teaching methods."

"Admit it: you were annoyed with me when I told you about self-pleasure yesterday."

"Not really. If you had started telling me those sorts of things a year ago, our situation would have become unbearable for me. I never would have been satisfied with self-pleasure. I would have wanted to apply everything that I learned touching myself to our interactions."

"Perhaps. Although that wasn't my reasoning at the time. I just wasn't sure what to do."

"I'm glad that we waited," Kurt says. "It was a challenge, and we met it together."

"I am, too."

Kurt smiles. "I imagine that you indulged quite a lot, though."

Blaine sighs. "I am truly sorry. I tried as often as I could to—just ignore it, after."

"I'm kidding. Mostly. It was an awkward position for both of us. I'm just relieved that when we're apart in the future, I can still—think of you, and do something about it."

Blaine's eyes trail over Kurt's bare legs. "I would love to see that."

"Blaine Anderson, are you asking me to perform for you?"

He pinches Kurt's tunic between his fingers and walks it up his thighs until his soft cock, the spread of his hips, and the curve of his waist are revealed. He draws Kurt back against his chest.

"Maybe?" he asks.

Kurt leans back into Blaine's arms, and thinks about it. "It's pathetic looking when it's soft, isn't it?"

Blaine laughs, scratching his fingernails down Kurt's thighs. "I wouldn't say that."

"So you aren't just inflating my ego when you say that I'm big?"

"My jaw is still sore," Blaine confesses, kissing his shoulder.

"Oh."

Arousal buzzes sweet and low in Kurt's belly. He stretches his legs out, feeling a twitch of interest as Blaine's fingers stroke his belly. It's so strange, watching himself respond—watching his cock shift on its own, watching the foreskin wrinkle and retreat as he lengthens.

He doesn't even have to touch it. He does spread his thighs when it begins to lift from his leg, his breath coming faster. He feels naughty with his tunic rucked up around his waist and his cock filling under Blaine's gaze, like a child playing "show me yours and I'll show you mine".

"Beautiful," Blaine whispers, caressing his bent leg. "Touch it for me, sweetheart?"

"Do you have that lotion? I don't want to rush."

There is a small jar of it on the table beside the chair that they're sitting in. Blaine retrieves it, lifts the lid and lets Kurt scoop out as much as he likes. He smears it over himself, twitching at the coolness of it, and god, just that small brush of his fingers feels wonderful. He tries not to feel silly as he wraps his hand around himself and strokes his thickening shaft up and down.

His hand is shiny with the lotion, and looks so strange around himself—he's never done this before, but it isn't difficult to figure out what feels best—and he gets so caught up in rolling his foreskin back and forth, fascinated, that he doesn't even feel Blaine's interest until it's lodged against the small of his back.

"Just ignore me, I can't help it," Blaine breathes, when Kurt gives him a look.

"You'll have to explain to me the purpose of touching these," Kurt says, dipping his free hand between his thighs to cup his heavy sac. "It feels very good, but—"

"I'm afraid that unless you're asking a biology question all I can say is that—yes, it does feel very good," Blaine says, laughing into Kurt's hair. 

It's a unique sensation, sort of like pressing a bruise.

"Judging by the path," Kurt says, his chest rising and falling unevenly, "that's where the come is?"

"Smart observation."

"Could you get me a cloth? I don't want to—all over."

After passing Kurt a handkerchief, Blaine asks, watching his hand move, "Did you ever fantasize? During the courtship?"

"Yes. Mostly of what we'd already done," Kurt says, closing his eyes. "Kissing and rubbing. That one time in the cabin behind my dad's house. That—that—oh." He stops, because he's getting close just thinking about that night, his fist massaging the tip of his cock repeatedly. 

"If you'd only known how close I was then," Blaine confesses. "I almost came all over your hip."

Kurt whimpers, digging his heels into the chair cushion and thrusting up—the lotion is mostly gone now, and the small bit of wetness that's welled up at the tip of his cock is not enough to smooth the passage, but he's getting close and not so eager to slow down now, hard as stone and curving back toward his belly every time that his hand slips.

Learning what he can do to this thing in between his legs that he has always just ignored is exciting, and Blaine watching him do it only makes it more exciting.

"Every time that we were close, I knew exactly when it was too much for you," Blaine says. "I knew that all it would take was one good thrust, or one squeeze of my hand, and I would feel you soak your clothes, feel your body go stiff with relief, and it was—so tempting. But we had made a promise to each other, and I knew that saying goodbye to you in that state, leaving you confused and alone after experiencing such new pleasure, would make us both feel terrible."

Kurt makes a broken off noise—he's too close to talk. 

"So many times," Blaine pants, rubbing his cock against Kurt's naked back in time with the rise and fall of Kurt's hand. "So many nights I went back to my rooms smelling like you, still able to feel you, hear you, and I barely got my hand on myself before it was over—"

"Oh, god, oh god, oh god!" Kurt presses his face into Blaine's throat as he comes, soaking the handkerchief in his hand. "That was incredible," he whimpers, pushing through his loose fist.

Blaine kisses his hair. "Gorgeous."

"How do you function, doing this every day?"

Blaine laughs. "It isn't always quite so overwhelming. And after years of it..."

"Gah," Kurt says, shaking. "I'll believe that when it happens."

Blaine uses the clean edge of the cloth to dry Kurt off completely, and then adjusts the tunic back over his legs. "Nap?"

"What about you?" Kurt asks.

"Don't worry about me," Blaine says. "I owe you quite a few, as I see it."

It's too easy to slide into post-orgasmic sleep cuddled in Blaine's lap.

When he wakes up he finds himself still in Blaine's lap, only facing him, and he's dead asleep. 

Kurt reaches over to switch on a light. The sudden glow throws Blaine's features into sharp relief, and Kurt takes a moment to look at him in repose, drool on his chin and his hair wild. He leans in and kisses Blaine's slack mouth, using the side of his hand to wipe the drool away.

He laughs when Blaine snaps awake, lifting a hand to his face. "Oh, disgusting."

"You're adorable."

"I must be, for you to want to kiss me like this."

He kisses Blaine again, smiling, and Blaine's arms slide around his waist. "Dinner? And maybe you could suggest a starting point among all of those educational papers?"

"Glad to," Blaine says. As Kurt heats up a pot of stew and grains, Blaine rifles through the papers. "What would you like to start with?"

Kurt sets out bowls and spoons. "As unromantic as it sounds, anatomy, I think."

They don't read as they eat, but when they're done Kurt takes the selection that Blaine has made for him and sits at the table alone with his pudding, eating it with his free hand. Blaine goes to bathe and change the linens and blankets on their bed, leaving him to it.

The diagrams and definitions are a revelation in terms of allowing Kurt to connect the informational dots that are already present in his mind, and none of it much surprises him—though it's exciting to learn, of course—at least, that is, until he gets to the carrier section.

It's far shorter than it should be. It's also jarring, to see the various drawings of the organ, especially when he finds almost no explanation of what the drawings really mean in terms of practical application. There's so little usable information here. Is it possible that carrier science, like so much of their knowledge, is shared orally rather than written down?

The thought frustrates him, and he decides to stop reading for the night.

Blaine is in bed writing something on a roll of paper, but he stops when Kurt enters.

Not wanting to dwell on the less productive aspects of his evening reading, Kurt decides to focus on what he had learned.

"I may have to visually confirm some facts," he jokes, crawling across the bed.

Blaine laughs, and sets his papers aside. "Really." 

He kisses the tip of Blaine's nose. "Would you like to go to sleep early?" Blaine looks rather comfortably tucked in.

"If you wouldn't mind," Blaine says, looking sheepish. "It's been a long time since I've been with someone like this, and—I'm kind of wrung out?"

"Of course I don't mind. You must remember to bop me on the nose when I get to be too demanding," he says, switching the lamp on his side of the bed off.

"I don't know about bopping," Blaine says, kissing him. "But we have weeks ahead of us—we should probably pace ourselves."

Kurt rolls over into Blaine's arms under the soft blankets and sighs happily. "Weeks. I love weeks."


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt wakes up to Blaine hard against his ass and mouthing the back of his neck.

"I woke up," Blaine says, hungrily tonguing the top knob of Kurt's spine, "and found this breathtaking young man in my bed. I thought I might take advantage of him."

Kurt whimpers, reaching back to fist a hand in Blaine's hair as his mouth finds the sweet spot just below Kurt's ear. Blaine's rutting has eased down their sleeping shorts, and Kurt can feel the blazing hot press of Blaine's cock against the top of his ass.

"Oh, god, yes," he moans, bending like a cat seeking warmth.

He can't help it—he's ravenous. He's been ravenous since that first orgasm in Blaine's hand. He can't stop thinking about it, can't stop wanting to do it again, and there's so much more to learn.

He feels Blaine's teeth against his shoulder, and can't take not seeing his face any longer. He rolls over, swallowing a frustrated noise—why are they wearing clothes, what was the point of even bringing clothes?—and straddling Blaine's waist, lifting his tunic over his head, sending his hair into static-y chaos.

"Did you wear a full pajama set to bed to torture me?" he asks, glaring at Blaine's tented shorts.

"Maybe?"

He groans, dragging them down. "God, look at you. You're so—thick, and hard, and—" He puts his hands on either side of Blaine's head on the pillows and kisses him, rough and open-mouthed, pressing his tongue inside. Blaine's tongue lashes against his in reply, and Kurt rocks their hips together. "I want to put your cock in my mouth."

"Oh, god," Blaine gasps.

"I want to lick it, and suck it—" He kisses downward, his face burning.

"God, please."

"So perfect," Kurt groans, dragging his mouth from nipple to hairy tract to rib to belly button, almost annoyed with himself that he doesn't want to go slower, but there's so much, and he wants it all. When he reaches Blaine's hips he can't help but stop to trace the pronounced v-shape with his fingers as he bites down on the soft swell below his navel.

Blaine's shorts are still tangled around his knees, so Kurt works them the rest of the way off, then buries his face at the junction where Blaine's groin and thigh meet, and breathes in. He smells incredible here, and when Kurt swipes his tongue over the flesh, finds that he tastes just as good.

"The anatomy papers sadly didn't have much in the way of oral sex guidelines," he breathes, inhaling over Blaine's cock, the shaft bumping his cheek when Blaine's hips twitch up.

"Um, j-just, try not to catch me with your teeth, unless it's light, and intentional, and—otherwise, just—do what you like, and when—I'll show you how to finish."

"Friction," Kurt drawls, taking Blaine in hand. "All friction, so simple; why didn't I see it before? You could rub against anything for long enough and—" Blaine groans. "Sorry," Kurt says, grinning, and nudges his nose against Blaine's erection. "God, the way that you smell—" 

He licks the head, tentatively at first. It's salty and fleshy and lovely, springy to the touch and soft as silk but hard underneath. He licks into the slit, around the glans, suckles the spot just under the head and then drags his tongue all the way down, feels Blaine rut through his parted lips, and drives his own hips down into the bed because this is about ten times more exciting than he'd thought it would be. Blaine is barely holding back, breathing heavily and making noises and an obvious effort to not pull Kurt's hair or press his head down where he wants it.

Kurt thinks about what it had felt like to have that wet, warm mouth so near and yet not exactly where he'd needed it, and lets Blaine thrust into his mouth the next time around.

"Sorry, s-sorry—"

"No, do it. Show me how you like it."

"Put your, uh, your lips over your teeth." 

Blaine's fingers card through his hair, press against the back of his head, and oh—that—that's exciting, being pushed down onto Blaine's cock. He manages to get about half of it in his mouth before he gags for the first time, and Blaine lets him stay there to get used to it—it's strange, and delicious, and thrilling, so alive against the inside of his cheek, and he sorts out how to close his mouth without closing his teeth, and Blaine hips move, and oh—yes, yes, that's—

Kurt moans, and feels the vibration hum over Blaine's skin.

"Put your hand on the base of it to stroke what you can't take in. God. God, Kurt, your _mouth_."

He's determined, and forces it the rest of the way anyway, huffing through his nostrils until his nose touches Blaine's hairy belly. He can't do much there, but he lets Blaine throb in his mouth, so near to his throat that another tiny shift downward would cut off his air.

"You don't have t-to—oh, oh—"

Kurt hollows his cheeks and sucks, as much as he can with his mouth so full, and then flattens his tongue against the shaft and pulls off, going slow even though he wants to go faster so that he can breathe again. He sucks in a breath when he's free, spit slick around his mouth and dripping down his chin. He pumps his hand a few times, feeling the saliva squelch between his fingers. 

Blaine is staring at him, flushed and panting. "Don't stop, love." He reaches down, drags his thumb over Kurt's spit-wet mouth, his face blazing red. "You're doing so well, taking me like that."

Kurt's belly flutters with pleasure at the praise, and all he wants to do is _more_.

He swallows Blaine's cock again. Bobbing is easier when he uses his hand to take the shaft, though he stops every dozen bobs or so to take Blaine to the back of his throat—he likes doing that, actually, likes that it takes effort and that it gets easier the more he does it. But it's the sucking that's the most thrilling, Blaine's fingers on his neck and his mouth going numb from friction and that beautiful, fat cock stretching his mouth and making his jaw ache.

And then all at once Blaine goes still and Kurt stops, worried that he's done something wrong.

"I'm going to come, if—you wanted to pull off," Blaine says.

Kurt realizes for the first time just how far gone Blaine is. His nipples are beaded up and he's flushed from his forehead to his chest and his eyes are so dark and his hips are churning, making the muscles in his torso and thighs bunch visibly. His flushed cock is shining with Kurt's spit, throbbing and thick and heavily veined, straining as if it wants back in Kurt's mouth rather badly.

"Is there anything different about you coming in my mouth?" Kurt asks, licking his lips.

"No. Not everyone likes the taste, is all."

Kurt continues stroking Blaine with his hand, then opens his mouth to breathe coolly over the throbbing head. "If I don't like it, I can just spit it out," he offers, watching Blaine watch him as he licks the crown, long and slow, before pressing it back into his mouth with a content groan.

Blaine moans. "Okay-y, just—use your hand, I'm close."

Blaine's balls are swollen up tight and high, and Kurt runs his thumb over them just as they contract, and—his mouth is flooded with spurt after spurt of come, and Blaine is thrusting into his mouth and crying out, his hips off of the bed and his fingers twisting against Kurt's scalp.

Kurt shivers, his eyes watering, through several rough swallows. The mouthfuls are slippery and bitter, but with what Blaine had said he'd expected a foul taste and it's a far cry from that.

He licks his lips, then licks up the dribbles of it that are still oozing from the slit, and Blaine whimpers. So he does it again, suckling hard, using his tongue to swipe the moisture back into his mouth until the head stops going wet, and only then does he pull away and work his jaw back and forth. It aches a little, and his lips are tingling and numb.

"Oh my god," Blaine breathes, staring at the ceiling.

He puts his cheek on Blaine's thigh. "I'll get better."

"If you get any better I may die young."

Kurt raises an eyebrow, and stares at the soft cock that is the result of his handiwork, shrinking up into its fleshy glove. He likes it this way as well as the other, and he draws a fingertip along it as it twitches, and then licks at it. "That was—very enjoyable."

"How am I supposed to get out of bed ever again?" Blaine asks.

"As I recall, we don't have to do anything that we don't want to do this month."

"Excellent point."

 

*

 

Of course, they do other things. 

They eat—a lot. They eat probably twice what they'd been allotted, and make requests using the cold box down the road that are a bit frivolous—exotic fruits and pastries and chocolate. They take long walks and horseback rides when the need for movement and air become paramount, even though they usually end up naked in the middle of or at the end of those journeys.

They sleep, and this may not seem like an activity, but for two people who run a province and don't have the option of leaving work behind at the end of the day, sleeping like the dead without the call to wake or a duty to attend is a gift beyond measure.

They play music and sing duets. They weave baskets and pine needle mats (fairly evenly) and paint landscapes (badly) and Kurt even makes an attempt at working clay (not quite as terrible as the landscapes, though he tells Blaine that he isn't sure what they're going to do with the mountain miniature that he manages to get to harden and "shut up, it was supposed to look like that, Blaine!").

Most importantly, they leave work behind, laugh until they cry, and learn how to be together and also how to give each other space when that togetherness becomes too much. 

Every moment spent in retreat is a journey that they learn to share.

 

*

 

The weather turns comfortably cool for a few days, and they decide to spend a night by the lake. 

They take their evening tea and dessert out with them, set up a comfortable nest of blankets just off of the water's edge, light bug-repelling candles and curl up together. It's cool enough to sleep in the open air or under a light blanket, and they're already shirtless.

Blaine is sitting behind Kurt, rubbing a sweet-smelling oil into his shoulders.

"Magic," Kurt moans. "Your hands are magic."

"You did say you wanted to relax."

Kurt makes a noise and then squeaks happily when Blaine's thumbs find and undo a knot just above his shoulder blade. "Oh, yes. This is not me complaining."

Blaine laughs, wipes his hands off on a towel, and sits up on his knees. "Here. Lay on your stomach so that I reach your whole back."

"You just want to be on top of me," Kurt accuses fondly, getting comfortable on a stack of pillows.

"Dual purpose, love."

He melts as Blaine begins to lay into him, working his back with smooth, deep, even strokes. No one has ever touched him like this, and he feels tension that he's been carrying for months dissolve beneath Blaine's hands.

Every time that Blaine skirts the dip of his lower back and the rise of ass, he tenses up—it's a sensitive area, and his body is humming. He just wants Blaine to massage him everywhere.

"Shall we take these off?" Blaine asks, tugging at his pants.

"Please."

Blaine helps him out of the pants, and then gets a fresh handful of oil.

"You'd be surprised how much tension you can carry in your buttocks and thighs, especially when you ride horses regularly," he says, putting his hands on Kurt's ass.

Kurt has no idea why he's so sensitive there, but once Blaine starts touching his cheeks he can't stop blushing and shifting into the blankets beneath him. He's never lingered on that part of his anatomy before—he can't imagine a place less associated with enjoyment—and he wonders why he's responding the way that he is now.

Blaine moves down his thighs, his calves, and even works on his feet until it tickles too much.

"God," he hums, flopping. "You were right. I feel so much better."

Blaine doesn't say anything, so Kurt turns to find him sort of hovering on his knees, his tongue between his teeth, and so hard that he's fully tenting his pants. 

"Oh. Why didn't you say something? We could've changed directions, I don't mind," Kurt says, licking his lips. This is an understatement—he's been heading in that direction himself all evening. He moves to drag Blaine down onto the blankets with him, but Blaine stops him.

"Could you just—stay that way?" Blaine asks, breathing roughly.

Curious, Kurt obliges, and sits up on his elbows to watch over his shoulder.

Blaine kneels over his thighs and bends forward, kissing his left shoulder blade, and then his right, and then the spot in between them. He kisses his back all the way down to its center, where he stops, breathing out unevenly. There's an off-balance rhythm to his touch that sets Kurt on edge. He's getting the feeling that he usually gets when he's missed something.

"Blaine?"

"You haven't asked me anything in a while. Or looked through the other papers." He places a soft line of kisses down Kurt's left flank, nuzzling in with his cheek and nose and jaw. 

Kurt has his reasons for that. He's been enjoying the hands-on lessons. He's been intentionally skirting the topic of pregnancy. But mostly, in the last week, he's almost managed to convince himself that they've done everything. Hands, mouths, bodies rubbing—what else is there? Looking at their forms, he's hard-pressed to imagine what else they could do together.

"We should probably talk about the rest," Blaine says. "I'm not going to force anything on you. But—well. You read the anatomy papers. You saw the organ drawings." He did. He had. "Are you sure that you wouldn't rather have the information at hand before I start explaining?"

Kurt rolls over so that they can look at each other, puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders and draws him down. He kisses Blaine lightly, and then not so lightly. He doesn't want this to be awkward for either of them. And he's ready to take a stab in the dark. 

There's only one thing that they haven't discussed.

He asks, breathing warm against Blaine's ear, "How do we make a baby, Blaine?"

Blaine's fingers, still oil-slippery, trace the curve of his waist, the flare of his hips, and the round spill of his ass on either side as he shifts into Blaine's lap. His whole body tingles at the touch—he's sensitive from the massage and from hours of being close, and even though he's soft against his thigh he still feels alive with wanting. Breathing roughly, Blaine turns his face into Kurt's throat, mouths at his pulse as their bodies brush, back and forth, down and up, Kurt hooking his ankles at the small of Blaine's back.

"I press my cock inside of you," he says, his voice rough and shaky, "and come, come deep and fill you up, so that it finds the channel that it uses to travel to your organ—and if it takes—"

Kurt's mind whirls off-course, heat spreading through his body. "And when you say inside—I am going to assume that you don't mean my mouth?"

Blaine whimpers, rocking against him, driving the stiffening length of his cock along him belly. "N-no." His fingers clench around Kurt's ass, left on left, right on right, and he hauls Kurt off of the blankets, deeper into his lap, and thrusts against him. 

Kurt isn't stupid. There's only one suitable orifice left.

Sweating and hot, he whines. "But how—w-won't that hurt? It's so _small_ —"

Blaine groans, and bites down on the soft, heaving dip just above Kurt's collarbone as he kneads the quivering silk-over-steel flesh of his ass. "God, don't say that right now." He's hard and throbbing against Kurt's belly. "I'd never hurt you. Never."

Kurt isn't sure that would be much fun for him, but he's equally sure that Blaine would never want something so much if it meant his discomfort. And Blaine's arousal is sweeping him up, distracting him from his doubts, and he can't help but reach between them.

"You'll put it inside of me?" he asks, dragging his fist up and down Blaine's cock. "To the root? And—pump in and out, like when I use my hand or my mouth, and then—spill, inside?"

"W-when we're trying to—get pregnant, y-yes—"

Kurt has never seen Blaine quite so overwhelmed, never felt him lose himself in his own arousal to this degree, and it's as exciting as the conversation is strange. His palm goes wet with the droplets oozing from the head of Blaine's cock. He strokes Blaine harder, faster, and feels Blaine's chest heave with uneven breath.

"Kurt," Blaine moans, as Kurt's heels dig into his ass, as his fingers spasm around Kurt's cheeks where he's still holding on like it's a lifeline. "Oh, god, honey, I'm going to come."

_So fast._

Is he thinking about it? About spreading Kurt's cheeks and pushing into his ass and using the friction until he spurts inside? Is that what's brought him to the edge so quickly?

"You're—you're thinking about it, aren't you?" he asks roughly, against Blaine's temple.

"Yes," Blaine moans, and comes suddenly, bucking, spilling wet and messy over Kurt's knuckles and down onto his chest. "Sorry. We were supposed to—have a discussion, and I just—"

Kurt smiles, kissing the warm, not-quite-so-dry-now skin of Blaine's trembling throat. "You've been holding that back. I don't mind. So. Your seed makes its way to my organ, where my half of—our potential baby is, and—"

"The two attempt to combine, and if that's successful, your organ provides the space and the nutrients that it needs to grow into life."

That makes sense, especially when he recalls the drawings.

"Do—do people do that, though, just for pleasure?" he asks.

Blaine kisses his bicep. "Yes."

"Have you done it? I mean, on the receiving end?"

He can feel Blaine smile. "Yes."

Kurt's neck and ears go hot. "Really."

Blaine laughs, seeing the expression on his face. "Now who's thinking?"

"Can you blame me?" he asks. "Now I'm curious." He thinks, and then asks, "So—there's no—everyone does it? Men, women, and—it's just—like everything else?"

"Of course," Blaine says. "That it can lead to pregnancy in carriers is an additional situational element, I suppose."

"Does it feel good?"

"It's—different than the things that we've done so far. Yes, it feels good, it can feel amazing, actually, but there's more to it than that. It's hard to describe. It's intense, and sometimes almost feels like it's—too much, but that's often the best part. You feel full and stretched, and—" He clears his throat. Kurt goes even hotter. "Being open like that, being penetrated by another person—" Kurt presses close, and rubs his chest. "It's very intimate."

Kurt supposes that he understands what Blaine is trying to say, but it's all so abstract to him, and he can't quite wrap his mind around that place on his body, which he associates with acts that are the opposite of attractive, being touched in a way that he would enjoy—it's not built for that, is it?

"I want to know what that feels like," he says, honestly. "It's just a bit more—well, everything else has been kind of logical, hasn't it? But that...that had never occurred to me."

"I don't want you to feel pressured," Blaine says.

"I could never feel that with you," he replies, smiling.

 

*

 

One afternoon after lunch, Kurt suggests that they indulge in the small cache of spirits that the cabin has to offer. There are a few types of wine that he's been dying to try. They end up getting drunk and swapping embarrassing childhood stories. 

Blaine tells Kurt about the time that he'd ended up far too invested in a romantic attraction and made a fool of himself in the town square with a young man who'd had no interest in being wooed. The event had ended with Anita having to apologize to the boy's father under the official Anderson seal; Blaine hadn't looked at a boy for months after. Kurt tells Blaine about his crush on Finn, and how strange it had been when Finn had become his brother.

"All of your life in that village—and he was the only one who ever interested you?" Blaine asks.

"When you're different in a variety of ways from the very start of your life, you grow up cautious. The few encounters that I had with children my own age, early on when I was still trying to make friends, only reenforced that. Children are curious as well as casually cruel; they ask questions without regard for other people's feelings, they don't like what they can't immediately understand, and if their parents have put any hate into them, they believe in that hate completely. I wouldn't say that I was abused outright by them, but it was clear from the start that I wasn't destined to fit in where I grew up. My interest in Finn was superficial, and mainly had to do with the fact that he treated me like an equal and defended me on a regular basis—not many villagers ever did."

Blaine nods, and then takes a long sip of wine. "I'm amazed at how differently we grew up. In so many ways, my childhood took the exact opposite direction that yours did."

"Sweetheart," Kurt says, raising his wine glass in challenge, "you were raised in a paradise compared to most village kids. Not in that you had perfection—but you had it far better, and you were given every opportunity to be successful at something that you were also naturally good at."

"Oh, god, of course I know that," Blaine says. "I just—I can't imagine being that young and having almost no peers of value, can't imagine how lonely it must have been for you."

"My parents were very attentive. It could have been worse." He rolls onto his back, and balances his wine glass on his chest.

"Were you always so stoic?"

"Of course not," Kurt confesses. "I wanted to push them all over a cliff on a good day."

Blaine laughs. "That I believe."

Kurt pokes his side, smiling. "We do have this in common: our parents created a world of love and support around us."

Blaine nods. "We are very lucky in our families."

"Family," Kurt says, flattening his palm over Blaine's chest. "Just the one now."

Which earns him Blaine's hand on his cheek, and a kiss that makes his neck go hot. He smiles into it, then tugs Blaine's leg over his hip, and rolls over on top of him. Blaine sets their glasses aside and rolls them again, laughing into the kiss—and then they're officially tussling, rolling each other over the blankets and pillows on the floor and sending empty wine bottles clattering under the furniture. There's a thunk and a squish, and Blaine makes a distressed noise.

"I think I just rolled over the cheese platter," he says.

"Oh dear, this will just have to come off, then," Kurt says, feigning dismay as he tugs Blaine's shirt over his head. There is indeed a block of squashed cheese stuck to it, but Kurt hardly notices that. Blaine's broad shoulders and narrow waist are much more interesting.

Blaine nudges them over onto their sides and presses a hand down Kurt's side to his hip, then onward to the soft curve of his cock beneath his clothes, a little thick from their play.

Kurt whimpers, his hips rolling into the touch. "Does it ever feel any less incredible?"

"Not really," Blaine admits, working Kurt stiff through his pants. He stops after a moment, begins picking the laces open, and Kurt savors the sensation as he rises out of the loosened flaps and right into Blaine's palm. "Mm. Lie back for me?"

Kurt lies down on the pillows at his back, squeaking in surprise when Blaine lifts his hips and tugs his pants off in one smooth motion. He does the same job on Kurt's tunic laces, working the neckline and the sleeves free before lifting it over his head.

"I want to touch you for a while—slowly. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," Kurt replies. The wine is making everything a little slow to respond, and he feels comfortable with the suggestion of taking it slow.

An hour later he realizes that Blaine had truly meant it.

He's soaked in sweat. His cock is so dark at the tip that it's almost purple. He's almost come so many times now that he's lost track. After the sixth or so full stop, Blaine had worked three pillows under his hips to bring him into easy reach, and after the tenth or so stop Blaine had encouraged him to put his knees over his shoulders. 

It's almost too much. He reaches out to touch Blaine's shoulder, his eyes lifting hazily.

"I—I can't—please," he whimpers, writhing. 

His cock flops back against his belly with a damp slap, and Blaine bends to mouth at the damp, hairy skin around and below his sac as he has every time that he's stopped to allow Kurt's orgasm back down, and Kurt is lost in the sensation—he can't help but let his head fall back and his thighs spread. He needs Blaine to kiss him everywhere. No spot is off-limits.

"Don't stop," he says, lifting up.

Blaine tips his pelvis up, far enough to send his cock and balls back against his belly. He kisses the sweaty skin below them, and Kurt shivers, about to say something when Blaine brings his thumb up and begins stroking the spot, and then pressing it, back and forth. A rush of sensation goes off like the hiss of a match catching flame and Kurt makes a confused, half-strangled noise.

"Does that feel good?"

"Y-yes," Kurt answers. "Weird, but good."

"If it feels half as good as you look right now, spread out and so hard for me, I'm content with that," Blaine says, kissing across the backs of his thighs, the swell of his cheeks, and then over the patch of skin that he'd been massaging. Kurt feels the tip of his tongue dance over the spot and can't stop himself from pressing up into it.

"Is this—are you going to, um—" 

Blaine's breath is hot against Kurt's skin when he breathes out, "Do you want me to?"

"W-with your mouth? Oh, oh, but—but it's—"

"You're perfectly clean, love." He nuzzles his nose into the softness of Kurt's sac. "But only if you want me to, of course. We can do anything that you're in the mood for."

So many nerves are firing down there that Kurt isn't sure if he could even give himself a good enough reason to say no—Blaine getting close to that spot feels good, and even though he has no idea why and is more than a little worried about cleanliness, he isn't going to doubt Blaine's knowledge or experience or what his own body is screaming at him.

"I want you to," he says, voice breaking. 

"Can you hold your legs up for me?"

It feels strange, like he's presenting himself for Blaine's consumption, but he does it. He shivers, and bites his lip as he watches Blaine's dark head sink down, watches that plump, red mouth kiss down the wrinkled seam all the way to where he's hot and tense and—clenching, oh, god, what is Blaine doing to him?

"That's it, just—relax, and breathe, okay?" Blaine asks, kissing everywhere but there, around and around in damp circles, until Kurt's pelvis is circling the same path, chasing Blaine's mouth.

Blaine takes his cock in hand and begins stroking it as he kisses over the spot that he's been avoiding. Kurt's fingers tense on his own legs and he whimpers, lifting them higher. The kisses almost tickle, but in a way that's so much deeper, and he's so sensitive there that it makes him shake, makes his whole body flash with heat. It feels good. It feels better than good.

He puts a hand in Blaine's hair. He bends his legs against his chest and arches his back.

It feels like so much at first, but when Blaine stops it twitches like an itch that wants to be scratched, and Kurt needs that mouth back where it was. He wants to feel it again, wants something to press against, to push down on.

"M-more," he moans, curling his fingers into Blaine's hair.

"There we go," Blaine murmurs, and kisses him where he's throbbing, where he needs it, finally, and he cries out.

"Can I touch my cock so that you can—do the other thing?" 

Blaine lets his hand take over. "I was hoping that you'd say that." 

He draws Kurt's cheeks apart and holds them open so that he can—

"Oh my god," Kurt gasps, squeezing his cock as Blaine licks over his hole. Once, twice, and then too many times to count, his head bobbing as his tongue turns circles. "Oh my god, _Blaine_ —"

It's like fire at the end of every nerve, making Kurt's skin prickle and his cock pulse. He feels it everywhere at once, his knees to his chest and Blaine's face buried to its cheekbones down there as he presses wide, open-mouthed kisses full of tongue against Kurt's pucker, firmer and surer with every pass, until Kurt can feel his hole begin to wink, cupping the tip of Blaine's tongue.

He twists to get closer, feeling the blankets and pillows scrape his back as Blaine inhales through his nostrils and digs deeper, licks harder, until the point of his tongue catches on the clenching flesh, using his thumbs to spread Kurt wide so that he can finally press his tongue inside.

"Oh," Kurt sobs. 

It feels as good as it does strange—his anus quivers as Blaine licks inside, then slips out, then inside, then out again. Kurt learns that the pad of Blaine's thumb is the perfect fit for the shape of his hungry little pucker, when Blaine pulls back to lick and kiss at his rim instead.

When Blaine begins to push with his thumb, though, he tenses up. "B-Blaine."

"I know, sweetheart, just feel my fingertip. Want to show you how good pressure can feel."

He groans. Blaine holds his skin taut and begins rubbing a slow, hard stroke against his hole, and oh, _god_ , oh god, the way that feels—

Colors pop behind his eyelids when he slams them shut. He can feel the pad of Blaine's thumb everywhere, from his spine to his legs to his toes. Blaine's thumb starts to flicker, not in circles but in short jabs that send shocks of sensation through to the inside of his ass. Kurt turns his head and whimpers, high-pitched. His toes curl. He doesn't have the presence of mind to stroke himself anymore, so he isn't surprised when Blaine's free hand finds him, tacky-hot and firm.

His ass is throbbing, aching and clenching and empty, and for the first time he realizes why someone might want something inside there, might want something to close up around, something to press down against, something to make the itchy hollow sensation go away.

"Relax for me," Blaine breathes, as he eases a spit-soaked thumb inside of Kurt's body.

"Oh, oh, god, oh god, oh my god."

Blaine's fist pumps Kurt's cock while his thumb edges in and up—

Electric sensation rips up Kurt's spine and he comes before he's ready to, spurting thick and white over Blaine's fist. The orgasm is so much more than the visible result. His legs spasm, one of them kicking out so fast that it almost catches Blaine's shoulder. When he opens his eyes, Blaine is grinning into his leg, which has curled up and over his shoulder. Blaine's thumb is still inside, all the way to the last knuckle now, and stroking him. His insides feel soft and hot around the digit. It's an odd sensation—but not an unpleasant one.

He bites his lip and stares down at the mess that he's made all over them both.

"You see my point," Blaine says, panting.

Kurt groans, overwhelmed and completely spent. "For that, you get to carry me to the tub."

Blaine grins. "The things that you consider to be punishments..."

 

*

 

Blaine comes half-awake one morning to the sounds of Kurt bathing. He rolls over, inhales the scent of soap coming in on a waft of humid air from beneath the bathroom door, and then slides back into sleep smiling. When Kurt comes into the room after he's finished and climbs back onto the bed, Blaine wakes up fully but doesn't move, content to lie there and enjoy it as Kurt crawls on his hands and knees across the bed and straddles his back, kissing the nape of his neck.

He pretends to be asleep, but knows that Kurt knows he isn't. Kurt's hands lace with his on his pillow and press down. He sighs contentedly. He doesn't expect, however, what comes next.

"Want your fingers," Kurt rasps into his ear, before biting down on the lobe. When Blaine says nothing, Kurt kisses across the back of his neck to his other ear. "It wasn't the same. I tried to do it to myself, but I can't get as deep as you can."

Blaine gives up the act, heat pounding in his cheeks. "You tried to finger yourself?"

Kurt's skin is still damp, and so hot that Blaine wonders if he has a fever. "Y-yes. Wasn't enough, wasn't right. Blaine, please—"

He even sounds different, almost distressed. Blaine rolls over underneath him, managing to untangle one pair of their hands, but Kurt maintains a desperate grip on the other.

"Come here," he says, and then wraps his mouth around Blaine's index and middle finger without further preamble, sucking them down to the last knuckle.

"Love," Blaine groans. "Are you alright?"

"Need your fingers," he replies, muffled by the fingers as he sucks on them.

"Okay, okay," Blaine says. "Kiss me?"

Kurt latches onto his mouth. Blaine puts his dry hand at the small of Kurt's back, and his damp hand on the curve of his ass. He breathes heavy and hot over Kurt's open mouth, letting his spit-sticky fingers stroke Kurt's cheeks apart. The skin down there is even hotter, and when Blaine's fingers graze the crack of his ass Kurt shudders, goes stiff and sucks in a breath so fast that his lungs almost wheeze around it.

"Oh, oh, oh, g-god," he whimpers, his knees and thighs spreading. His back arches and his ass churns against Blaine's palm.

"You're burning up," Blaine says, but Kurt just kisses him quiet again, and reaches over for a smear of the lotion that's sitting on the bedside table.

"I feel fine," Kurt says, and then gasps when the cold lotion hits his skin. "Okay, warmer than usual, but—oh, my god, please, touch m-me." He lifts his ass into the air—and there isn't a force on Earth that could make Blaine refuse him like this.

The rim around Kurt's pucker is swollen and hot and so very soft. Blaine is shocked when the light graze of his slick finger is met with almost no resistance. He pulls back in surprise.

"Wait, what, don't stop," Kurt whines.

"How many fingers did you use in the bath?" he asks.

"Not even the one, really, why, does it matter?"

He isn't sure. He kisses Kurt's trembling mouth, pressing his pointer finger against Kurt's pucker until it relaxes and lets him in.

"Hardly feels like anything, I—need you to—keep doing that, only more." Kurt sits up on his hands and knees, groaning when Blaine slips a second finger in alongside the first, his eyes shut and his face red. "Feels so good inside, like we're made to fit." He reaches back to hold himself open with one hand. "C-could you—more, and move?"

He does as Kurt asks and fills that gorgeous ass up with his fingers, using just enough lotion to make the drag smooth but not enough to make it frictionless. Kurt's body is like the clamp of a throat around him, smooth and hot, and when he sets a rhythm Kurt matches it, impaling himself again and again in a slow loop back onto his fingers and then off of them again, his channel sucking them hungrily even through the release, as if it doesn't want to let go. Kurt's face goes slack and satisfied at the penetration.

"Good, so good," he moans, dropping his forehead to Blaine's chest.

The sight of his pert, round ass swallowing Blaine's fingers just over the rise of his shoulder blades makes Blaine hard enough to pound nails.

"More?" He presses a third finger against Kurt's hole.

"Yes, god, yes," Kurt moans. This requires a moment of readjustment, but Kurt takes the third finger as easily as he had taken the first two.

"Roll onto your side?" he asks, and they topple together, Kurt hooking his leg over Blaine's arm so that Blaine can get at him from behind and underneath. 

It's much easier on his wrist, and much better for movement, and Kurt makes a soft, happy noise against his lips as his fingers bury to hilt again, three thick. He loosely slots their cocks together as he works his fingers in and out, out and in, in a careful, curved corkscrew motion.

"F-faster," Kurt breathes, rutting against his belly. He puts one hand in Blaine's hair, tugs their mouths into alignment and drapes his leg around Blaine's torso, digging his heel in to keep them close. Like this, he doesn't have to hold himself open—the soft, hairy plumpness of his cheeks are splayed open around Blaine's fingers as they plunge.

"You feel so good," Blaine says, listening to the low, wet squelch. "Is that better?"

"So much," Kurt whimpers, going tight. "I feel like I could come, just from this."

"Possible," Blaine says, and Kurt groans.

"Please, please, I want that, can we do that?" 

"Lift your leg a little." He does, and that gives Blaine more room and a better angle. He isn't surprised when he finds Kurt's prostate swollen, firm and obvious compared to the silken heat of the rest of him.

"Oh my god, that feels so strange. Is that the—gland?"

"Yes. Good strange?"

"Yes, just, please, rub—"

He picks a middle-of-the-pack pace, sets two fingers over it and begins massaging lightly.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh— _Blaine_."

It takes a while. Every time that Kurt gets close the sensation grows too intense and Kurt twitches away from it, takes a breath and resets the escalation. Blaine scoops another small handful of lotion, just to take the friction down a notch, and that seems to do the trick—his fingertips keep their anchor, slick and smooth, pumping just a few inches into Kurt.

He watches Kurt's cock throb between them, jumping of its own accord—it's so swollen, its foreskin straining and completely rolled back. He wishes that he could swallow every pulse of come, but that would mean slowing his fingers, and he has no intention of doing that.

"Blaine," Kurt whimpers, his erection already jerking in midair. "Oh, god, it's—I'm going to—"

Blaine lets the rhythm go choppy; he can feel Kurt tipping over and knows that it won't hurt to do so, and as Kurt begins to sputter and twitch he lets it go completely, pushing the third digit back in and jacking the full weight of his hand behind his fingers, skin slapping skin, lotion everywhere.

"There, there, _oh_ ," Kurt sobs, "oh, your _fingers_ , yes, yes, do it," and his cock throbs, untouched, and shoots a jolt of come across Blaine's chest. Another follows, thinner, cloudier, and another, each accompanied by a desperate jerk, until it's just oozing down its own shaft and Kurt has slumped down onto his side like a puppet that has had its strings cut.

Almost as soon as he's come, his skin begins to cool off, and by the time that Blaine is cleaning him with a damp cloth he's half-asleep, breathing softly and smiling.

"Love you," he murmurs, reaching for Blaine, who sinks into his arms. "Love you so much." Kurt's hand slips between them to find him still hard. "S-sorry, I—selfish."

The temptation to ask Kurt to roll over and spread his legs is almost overwhelming. Blaine knows that it would be easy to slide inside of him—he's so open—and ride his body into the mattress and come. But he's exhausted, and Blaine doesn't want that first time to be an afterthought. He shifts away from Kurt's hand and presses his cock in between Kurt's thighs instead.

"Hold your legs tight together," he says.

Kurt is almost limp now, a dead, deliciously easy weight, his hairy muscled thighs slick with enough sweat and lotion to make the glide just right.

"Oh," Kurt says, his ass flexing against Blaine's belly. "Clever."

He holds Kurt's hips and begins thrusting through his thighs. "God, yes, just like that." 

The motion is almost enough to satisfy Blaine's primal urge to bury his cock in something tight and rut. It's all so good, the catch of hair and soft skin, Kurt's shrunken sac against the shaft of his cock, and the sight of the head of his cock poking out of the other side, swollen and wide—

_Oh, god._

He presses his teeth into the meat of Kurt's shoulder and thrusts rapidly through the gap between his legs. Kurt catches on and begins to rock back against him.

Kurt wraps an arm around him from behind, kisses the sweaty curve of his jaw and hisses, "Come—come on me. Come all over my thighs, want you to—"

That's all it takes. 

He bites down on Kurt's bicep, spilling messily all over Kurt's legs and balls and soft cock, easing himself through the mess with slow, deliberate presses after the initial rush fades. 

It's another morning that they'll spend back in the bath, and he can't say that he minds.

 

*

 

The problem is, the papers say absolutely nothing about sex-related mood swings. 

They don't explain why Kurt now goes through chunks of time when his skin goes as hot and he feels as if he doesn't have an orgasm, or doesn't have something inside of him to clamp around, doesn't have Blaine, that he'll go mad.

Is it just the sex? Is it just the fact that he's having it now and he wants it in ways that he never could have predicted before he'd known what it would feel like?

When they first began having sex, he felt as if he could do it three times a day—now it's more like five or six, and he's scraped raw by the need.

The first time that he wakes up in the middle of the night in a puddle of sweat with his cock wet enough to stick to his pajamas, he locks himself in the bathroom and turns on the shower water to drown out the noises that he makes when he sits on the lip of the tub, puts his feet on its edge, and tries to stroke himself and push his fingers into his ass at the same time.

It's not enough. It's not _Blaine_ , but it's better than waking him up—they had just had sex before bed, and that had been only hours ago.

He turns his face against the inside of his elbow and bites down to muffle the sob that breaks past his lips when he comes sitting on his own fingers. 

And still, by morning he's whining in bed, nosing down Blaine's body before Blaine even wakes.

It's a strange feeling, made even stranger when it randomly abates and his skin goes cool.

What is wrong with him, and do they need to worry?

He doesn't feel ill or in danger, just—greedy and wanton, and Blaine is everything, the thing that satisfies him and torments him at the same time. Every time that Blaine looks at him or touches him it's like stoking a smolder to a roaring fire, no matter the circumstances.

During their last week in the cabin, though, these heats become more infrequent. They don't speak of them, and Kurt is happy to feel more like himself again.

The mental clarity allows him to begin to process the result of weeks of doing absolutely nothing of consequence—the relaxation, the laziness, the gluttony, the chance to bond with Blaine in ways that he never has before.

The initial sensation of being married, of looking at Blaine across the breakfast table and feeling his eyes burn and his heart swell and his whole body twitch with the desire to get up and shout to the world that Blaine is his, that they belong to each other, that Kurt has never felt anything so intense and yet so safe at the same time.

Toward the end of the week, Kurt notices that they both start to grow fidgety. While one of them reads or plays music, the other will take a walk or a horseback ride. While one bathes or sees to a bit of packing, the other will find a room to explore or rearrange.

They're both high-energy people, and Kurt suspects that Blaine is feeling the same way that he is—this retreat has been wonderful, but they miss their lives. Without their families and professional associations and job tasks, they find that there is simply something missing.

On one of their last nights, they eat dinner outside under the stars, feeding each other and talking sparsely. Kurt decides to take the opportunity to venture into unspoken territory.

"Three days," he says.

Blaine nods, and reaches across the grass to lace their hands. "Ready to plunge back in?"

Kurt smiles. "I think so. I'm getting antsy."

"Me too," Blaine says, smiling back. "I miss my friends and my cousins and your silly dog."

"Could do without the sixteen hour work days."

"Definitely," Blaine says, laughing. "But I guess that's—us, isn't it?"

Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand, and catches his eye. "It is."

"I noticed that you went through the rest of the papers," Blaine says.

"They were not as informative as I might have liked," Kurt admits with a shrug.

"Are you nervous about anything in particular?"

Now would be the perfect time to talk about the hot flashes and the mindless arousal that they bring, but Kurt isn't sure if he's ready to begin worrying about them.

Instead he says, "Curious, actually. I still have so much to learn about my body—especially about the carrier organ."

Blaine slides his free hand over Kurt's belly, his eyes flickering in its wake. "I feel as if this is all happening so fast."

"Have you changed your mind?" Kurt asks, putting his hand on top of Blaine's.

Blaine's eyes go dark and wet and he swallows, rolling over and pressing his face against Kurt's belly, as if he's already imagining it round and full. "No. But I'm as afraid as I am excited."

Kurt sighs. "You know that if it were just you and I, that if we weren't who we are, I would prefer to take the slow path with you."

"Of course."

"But it isn't. And we are." He kisses Blaine's hand. "We've been lucky to share a natural love and attraction despite the prearranged nature of our relationship. But that doesn't erase the one reason why our relationship was prearranged in the first place."

Blaine's eyes slide shut. "I know, love."

Kurt smiles, stroking his hand. "You're going to be a brilliant father. You're already setting new records for excellent husbanding."

"Is that a word?" Blaine asks, his eyes shining.

"It is now." 

Blaine laughs, and tears spill over his cheeks. Kurt brushes them away. "In all fairness, thirty days is hardly enough time for you to start rating me. Give me a year, at least."

"Don't beg for extra time, now. It's unbecoming in a man of your status, and we Hummels are exacting folk."

"Our children, however, will be Andersons—perhaps I'll recruit them to my side," Blaine teases.

"You can try," Kurt shoots back.

Blaine grins, kneels over Kurt's legs and leans across his body, kissing him. "I have my ways."

Kurt can't help but laugh. He lowers his voice and says against Blaine's lips, "And you have my attention." He is rewarded with a kiss that encourages his lips to part and makes his skin tingle.

When they pause to breathe, Blaine licks his lips quickly enough to graze Kurt's with the tip of his tongue, and Kurt wraps his lips around it, and chases it back into Blaine's mouth. He finds the hem of Blaine's tunic, tugs it high enough to get at his lower back, and then pushes his fingers down the seat of Blaine's pants, cupping his buttocks and pulling their bodies closer together.

He nuzzles into the corner of Blaine's mouth, takes a breath to say something—

And is interrupted by the searing press of Blaine's lips. 

They stare into each other's eyes, and Kurt's cheeks flush hotter.

"You don't have to ask," Blaine says, kissing damply over his jaw, finding the hinge with a nip of his teeth and then when he tilts his head back eagerly, kissing down the column of his neck, over skin as thin as paper and Kurt's heart slamming against it like a bird trapped behind glass.

Blaine sits up for long enough to allow Kurt to help him take off his tunic, and then Kurt's own.

Once he settles, Blaine won't budge from where he's straddled over Kurt's hips, and Kurt can't spread his legs to allow Blaine in between them, and the sensation that follows being kept where he is excites him in ways that he doesn't quite understand. There is a wiry, implacable strength in Blaine's compact body, and it thrills Kurt to his very core.

Panting, Blaine lifts his head from Kurt's collarbone, only to let it fall again, over his nipples—he kisses, licks, and bites one and then the other, and when he lifts his mouth the wind over Kurt's naked chest turns them stiff. Kurt whimpers when Blaine's mouth finds the dip between his ribs, his hands wandering Blaine's shoulders and finally his hair as he slides down.

By the time that Blaine is kissing his hips and dragging his pants down, he's fully hard, the small of his back off of the blanket beneath him and his fingers twisted in Blaine's hair.

He makes a noise and Blaine looks up at him, smiling. "So beautiful, sweetheart."

He doesn't feel feverish or dizzy—but he's still burning up slowly, naturally, and he can feel the space between his cheeks throb with a uniquely aware sensitivity. He knows that there's a vial of lotion in their dinner basket and his mind is already circling the idea, whispering to him about how lovely that cool slickness is going to feel against the warmth buzzing inside of him. 

But he doesn't just want fingers tonight, and—well. Blaine had said that he didn't need to ask.

When he's naked and Blaine's down to just pants, Kurt draws his palms over Blaine's chest and belly. He loves how Blaine is darker than he is, loves the wisps of thick, coarse hair on Blaine's body where Blaine has allowed it to grow thick since they've been on retreat. He cups Blaine's erection through his pants, squeezing the thickening shaft. The desire that shoots through him at the feel of it makes the hair on his arms stand up, and he exhales roughly.

Blaine doesn't stop him when he loosens the waistband and peels the cloth down and off, doesn't do anything more than inhale when his cock rises, mostly stiff, and bobs untouched. Kurt stares at it, then wraps his hand around it, stroking it—it's so warm, and so hard, and god, he wants it.

But what if Blaine doesn't understand? They've never talked about that step, even though Kurt has taken Blaine's tongue and fingers many times, even though Kurt has learned to be fastidious about cleaning himself in anticipation of it happening at any time, has even made sure to arrange his eating habits and bathroom trips around it. What if Blaine is waiting for him?

Blaine tugs his pants off entirely, and then kisses from Kurt's chest to his ear, where he whispers roughly, "Put your legs over my shoulders."

_Oh._

Kurt's belly drops—he inhales, and the inhale becomes a moan halfway through. He swallows the noise, shivers to his scalp as he puts his left leg over Blaine's shoulder. Blaine kisses the inside of his knee, and helps him hook his other leg, which receives the same treatment.

Kurt has no idea when Blaine had wrestled the lotion from the basket, but it's in his hand. Kurt hears the snap of the lid and sees the wet white and smells it, holds his breath as Blaine smears it over his cock, and then kisses him again.

"You're shaking," Blaine says, bending him in half.

"I want you," Kurt whimpers, lifting his ass. "I want this so badly, please."

Blaine curls three slick fingers in between his cheeks and strokes broadly up and down. Kurt feels him huff out a surprised noise when Kurt immediately puckers up against his fingertips.

"God," Blaine moans. "You're so relaxed already."

"Just—please—" Kurt's hole is slick with lotion when Blaine takes his fingers away, when Blaine guides the head of his cock to the clenching depression.

"Going to rub a little, love, just, push against me but don't tense up, okay?"

It's hypnotic, the firm pressure turning slippery circles against his hole, just enough to make his rim and anus flutter and then begin to relax. It sends an urgent rush through his body, and creates the desire for more. He holds onto Blaine and waits, his pulse pounding in his ears.

When the head of Blaine's cock begins catching on his hole, Kurt whines and arches his back, and feels the muscles in Blaine's arms quiver in response.

"Please," he whimpers, sliding one hand down to Blaine's ass and gripping it. "P-please."

"Relax," Blaine says, and when Kurt forces his muscles to go loose, he nudges the head of his cock up and forward, pushing it inside.

Kurt's eyes roll back as they close, and heat lashes down his thighs and up his spine. It feels strange and wonderful and a little uncomfortable, but it's not enough, and when he tugs at Blaine's hips Blaine exhales a groan and sinks deeper. He waits for it to hurt, but it just feels like his muscles are being persistently stretched, and once Blaine is fully seated, it feels better.

He whimpers against Blaine's arm, hitches his legs up higher, and puts his free hand on Blaine's back. Cool air is swirling over his exposed ass and thighs. He needs Blaine to do something.

Blaine manages to run one hand through Kurt's hair while remaining balanced above him. He whimpers when Blaine bends to touch their mouths together, latches on to the kiss and rolls his hips at the same time, and Blaine gasps.

"Move," he says, gripping Blaine's back.

"Okay," Blaine breathes. 

He gets the movement that he desires, then, and initially it just feels liked he's stuffed full, but then Blaine's cock begins pushing deep and dragging back out to the head only to sink all the way back in again, and he feels the thrusting from his belly to his fingers, shivery and invasive and almost too much, but all over perfect. 

He isn't sure what it's supposed to feel like, but it's making him hot all over, making sensation shoot and snap and pop all over his body—he's full, so full, and so open, and Blaine's cock is thick and just the right length. They're as connected as two people can be, and he loves it.

"God," he moans, wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck. "God, yes, yes, do it, I'm fine."

"Let me make you come," Blaine rasps, fumbling in between them. "Want to feel you come around me, want you to see how good it feels after—"

Kurt makes a garbled noise of assent and gives Blaine room to get at him, and then whimpers when he does—pressure around his cock reminds him of how far along he already is, how fast he gets there compared to Blaine—and it's so wet, Blaine must have gotten more lotion, and Blaine's hand flies and the slick noise of it grows loud and Kurt's hips swivel hungrily.

Blaine's cock is moving smoothly in and out of him now, the drag and stretch at a minimum, just pressure and fullness and deep penetration making Kurt's ass clench and release. It feels perfect, the perfect counterpoint to the damp fist pulling his cock. It begins to grow overwhelming then, Blaine above him, holding his legs in the air and his ass off the blankets, rutting into him at a rapid clip while stroking his cock at the same time.

Kurt stops thinking about them as two separate bodies, stops thinking of Blaine as an invading force making room inside of him, and just—lets Blaine's cock fit, relaxes around it and learns how to take it, and he can almost feel his insides curve in response.

Blaine makes a noise and stops. Kurt can feel the sweat on his lower back.

"Honey," Blaine breathes heavily, staying deep inside and, instead of thrusting he begins to grind around and around, working the thickness of his cock inside of Kurt's ass in slow churns.

"Oh god," Kurt gasps, his cock jumping in Blaine's hand. "Oh god, oh god."

"There? Does that feel good?" Blaine asks, and Kurt's heart slams in his chest. "Talk to me."

"Yes," he hisses, his fingernails digging into Blaine's back. "Yes, just, harder."

Blaine pins his pelvis and moves faster and rougher, and when he keeps making noise, harder still, until the slap of their bodies stings—and that's just perfect. Kurt is using the rock of their bodies to push his cock through Blaine's fists more than either of them are actually moving to accomplish it, and it's incredible, both acts tied to the same rhythm. 

He's throbbing and winding up and hot all over and so close, he can feel it in every muscle, and before he can ask Blaine to slow down it's right there, and he's too close to stop.

"I'm coming," he gasps.

Blaine moans as he spills across his chest and collarbone and chin. Having Blaine's cock to spasm around makes it feel like something entirely new—he quite literally milks it for all that it's worth, until he's a pulsing and sodden mess, wrapped around Blaine. He gives his pelvis an experimental roll, just to feel Blaine's cock inside of him shift. 

Blaine tenses. "God, Kurt, I'm—"

Kurt continues to roll his hips, and then shifts them side to side, all while watching Blaine's face twist up with the sensation. Still shaking from his orgasm, he wraps two unsteady hands around Blaine's gorgeous ass and pulls it in deeper.

"Keep doing it," he rasps, every muscle in his body as loose as undone tunic strings. He feels powerful and aroused and he's still half-hard and god, his husband is inside of him, buried so deeply inside of him, and it feels wonderful. "Keep going."

"I c-can't risk coming inside of you," Blaine says.

There is a brief, reckless, breathless moment when Kurt wants to say, _do it. Fill me up. I want it. I want to feel it. I want you to soak me with it, I want you to—_

He has no idea where this urge comes from. Logically, he knows that they can't. Logically, he doesn't want to get pregnant yet, or even attempt to get pregnant. 

At the very least, he has to admit that he wants more.

"How—how close are you?" he asks, still rocking against Blaine's cock.

"Damn," Blaine hisses, leaning back on his knees. "You are so—god, Kurt. I'm too close."

"You can come _on_ me, yes?" Kurt asks, sliding a hand under and behind his ass to touch the swollen, hot, wet place where they're joined.

"Yes," Blaine moans.

"Just—slide out into my hand, okay?"

He doesn't want to be empty, but he can feel how close Blaine is—his whole body is tense, and his balls are as tight and full as unripened apples.

"Oh my god," Blaine hisses, as he slides wetly right into Kurt's fist.

"That's it," Kurt breathes, as he shudders from the gaping emptiness where moments before he'd been so full, "use my hand, just like you were using my ass."

"Oh my _god_."

It takes only seconds after that, and Kurt holds his breath the entire time, watching Blaine's face twist up and the muscles in his upper body chord and seize, watching the sweat drip down his brow and temples, his hair a humid riot of frizz, watching his gorgeous body pump forward, his hips jacking greedily, driving himself through Kurt's fist. 

Kurt tightens his grip, puts his thumb just at the crown as it hammers past, and Blaine comes loudly, shooting warm pulses of come all over Kurt's ass and cock and balls.

"Oh," Kurt whines, feeling it drip down his skin.

Blaine whimpers, his belly wiggling as it heaves. A drop of sweat trickles down the side of his neck and Kurt groans, grabs him by his arms and pulls him down to lick at it.

"Love you," Kurt says, kissing everywhere that his mouth can reach. "So much. That was—"

His ass is aching, empty and throbbing and sore and he still wants more, but he thinks that it's good they're done because he needs his mind and his body to catch up to each other.

Blaine reaches down between them and gently rubs his fingers around where Kurt is still open. The touch feels wonderful, and Kurt's body relaxes. He cleans off the mess, and then his fingers return to soothe the lingering ache away. They press inside again, making Kurt whimper.

"That's it—just want to feel you," he says, rocking them in and out. "Could I make you come again?"

"N-no, but I—that feels very nice."

Blaine untangles them, lies down next to Kurt with the leg between them drawn up so that he can keep touching, and touch he does—all over Kurt's soft cock and balls, over and inside of his ass again, all around his rim and even over his sweaty cheeks, circling and rubbing until Kurt is a vibrating mess of post-orgasmic pleasure.

Kurt takes in a lungful of mountain air and exhales satisfaction, his eyelids fluttering. He feels spent for the first time since they started having sex, in both body and mind. It's thrilling.

When he grows tired of sitting still he shifts closer to Blaine, and traces a line down his flank with a single fingernail. He ends with teasing the groove of Blaine's pelvis while staring down at his shrunken cock. It's sticky from their union. He touches it, squeezes it, makes Blaine jump and laugh under his breath as he teases lower.

"Mm," he hums, stroking Blaine's sac.

"If you hope to get more of out me, you may have to do most of the work," Blaine says sleepily, his mouth curled into a grin.

"I'm enjoying touching you, shush. It doesn't have to go anywhere."

Blaine lies down more comfortably and spreads his legs. "Sounds good to me."

Kurt traces the lines of Blaine's thighs and pelvis, fondles his spent genitals and his tight, lovely torso, until he's bumpy-skinned and half-asleep. It's getting chilly, so Kurt tugs a clean blanket over their bodies and rolls into Blaine's side.

"Sleep out here?"

"If we get eaten, it'll be your fault."

"We haven't seen an animal this close to the cabin in weeks."

Blaine makes a sleepy noise and burrows into his side. "Nudge your flawless backside over here and go to sleep, my love."

Kurt giggles—and yawns—and does as Blaine requests.

 

*

 

The morning of the last day of their retreat, Kurt wakes up, rolls over into Blaine's side, and is surprised to find Blaine already awake, sitting up against his pillows.

"Morning," Kurt says, shifting up against all of that olive-toned, warm skin, sighing contentedly when Blaine's arms come around him. "You're up early."

"I was thinking," Blaine replies, kissing him. "I would like to move into your quarters, when we get back home, instead of you moving into mine."

This is a surprise.

"Your family keeps quarters on the other side of the house. They always have."

"You've been uprooted twice in the last two years. I don't want you to have to do it again. And—your rooms are superior to the older wing's, and—there's the nursery."

Kurt tilts his head, watching Blaine's face go soft as he adds that last caveat.

"I would like to even the odds a little," Blaine says. "Come to you, rather than have you come to me."

"If you want the change for your own reasons, I'm comfortable with that," Kurt says. "But don't do it just for me, or out of a sense of balancing scores, because...there are no scores between us. There never will be."

Blaine smiles, nods, and then kisses below Kurt's ear. "Except for the one where I owe you hundreds of orgasms?"

"Except for that one, yes," Kurt whispers, grinning as Blaine's lips slide down his neck. "Mm—what time is the transport coming for us?" He rolls over on top of Blaine, going warm all over when Blaine's hands cup and squeeze his ass.

"Late morning, I expect," Blaine replies, kissing him.

"Well then," Kurt says, dragging Blaine flat onto his back, "plenty of time."


	13. Chapter 13

Going back to compound life after their retreat is like stepping into a brightly lit room after spending a decade in the dark.

In so many ways it's thrilling, coming home "in triumph", rested and satisfied as a happily married couple. In other ways it isn't quite so pleasant—the apex of Summer is also the start of Winter preparation, which translates into a good deal of time spent apart. The separation so soon after thirty days of nothing but one another's company is difficult.

Kurt spends two thirds of his waking hours among throngs of people, seeing to village concerns or sitting in meetings that end with the need to make decisions and commentary. There isn't a moment when he can withdraw his attention. It seems that someone always wants to see him, whether it's employees, industry reports, Blaine's parents, villagers, or guild members.

On his mandated days off, he assists in moving Blaine's things. The decision for Blaine to move into his rooms instead of the other way around had surprised Blaine's parents, but Anita had only shrugged in the end and said, "It seems logical to me."

"Everyone's going to want a room on that side now," Jon had said, with a wink.

Combining their rooms is a challenge. 

Kurt hasn't had the necessary time to fill his rooms to the brim, but they have become his and suddenly everything is a jumble of _theirs_ , and he is fussy. He rearranges things after Blaine arranges them, and the first time that something of his goes missing they have a shouting match that ends with Kurt spending the night in his retiring room. The next morning he finds the missing item, crawls into their bed with a sigh, and apologizes for overreacting.

This happens for dozens of silly reasons as the weeks pass. It takes quite an effort to decide where the boundaries are, but they get through it, argument by argument—making up is quite a lot of fun, and fighting rather than retreating into brooding silence feels honest even when it hurts.

By the height of Summer, they've arranged the rooms to their satisfaction. Blaine converts the office that Kurt isn't using into his own retiring room, they redecorate the public antechamber to match both of their styles, and the bedroom is given a complete makeover. Kurt moves some of his more personal effects to his retiring room, making the general space less "him" and more "them", and they are both pleased with the result.

He does reserve the right to make fun of the horse painting that Blaine has hung on the wall opposite their bed, however.

After the initial round of Winter prep decisions are made, they find themselves actually spending time together in their new chambers.

Kurt is wearing just a robe when Blaine arrives this evening, and before Blaine can even get out a greeting Kurt is pressing him back into the door and kissing him. 

Today had been one of those days when Blaine had teased him every time that they'd passed each other in the hallways—had stroked the soft spot on his inner wrist while squeezing his hand, or had touched the small of his back for a moment longer than necessary, or had brushed a kiss over his jaw, or had tossed him a thoughtful, warm glance while licking over his bottom lip.

"You don't get to unload on me, not until you are properly punished," Kurt says, pushing his fingers through the cracks in Blaine's hair and letting Blaine feel the bath-warm naked front of him all up and down his clothed torso.

"As if you've never done the same to me," Blaine says, sliding his arms around Kurt's waist beneath the robe. Kurt knows just how soft he feels, just how good he smells—Blaine is already stiffening under the heel of his palm.

"God, you feel good," he breathes, and when Blaine's hands squeeze his ass and tug him forward he begins walking backwards, jerking Blaine's tunic laces as he goes. "Want to be on top of you."

Blaine groans, whipping his tunic off and helping Kurt go at the laces on his pants as Kurt sits on the edge of the bed.

"All day," Blaine says, pushing his pants around his knees as Kurt scoots back onto the bed, kneeling over Kurt for a kiss or two before rolling over and taking Kurt with him. Kurt straddles his waist, breathing out hot and quick as the robe falls off his shoulders and hangs there hooked uselessly on his elbows. His naked body is still flushed underneath the robe from his bath and Blaine whines, palming his cock. "All day, after this morning—"

They'd overslept and hadn't had time to say good morning properly.

Kurt hisses, feels his cock stiffen in Blaine's hand, but he's already reaching for the lotion on the bedside table, getting lost in a tangle of robe and robe sash and the pants still around Blaine's knees in the process. Blaine's cock is warm and heavy and full against the back of his thigh.

Dizzy with wanting more, Kurt reaches behind his leg and wraps his hand around Blaine's cock, slicking it even as he pumps it to full hardness.

"Oh? What about this morning?" he urges, rubbing his ass against it.

"You were grinding against me half of the night," Blaine answers, going red from his ears to his neck as Kurt touches him. He puts his hands on Kurt's waist. "I woke up as snug as a puppy in a blanket between your cheeks."

Kurt groans, and drops his hand so that he can rut back against Blaine's cock, putting it exactly where it had been this morning. "Never any time." He smears lotion along his crack, just for good measure, and then uses the residue to make Blaine's nipples shine. "Want it all the time," he breathes, rocking back rhythmically. "Can feel it all the time, the way you fill me up, the way it feels when you move, when you're so deep that I can't think straight—"

"Oh, god, sweetheart, please."

"You look at me sideways and my—my ass throbs, like it knows what you can do to it."

" _Kurt_ —"

Kurt lets the head of Blaine's cock catch and slot against his rim, and from there it's just a matter of relaxing at the right angle for the easiest, smoothest glide, and—he sinks down, crying out at the perfection of the stretch (just the right amount of lotion, just the right amount of drag) because he's been thinking about this all day and it's even better than his fantasies.

"Oh my god, yes," he moans, wriggling his ass side to side all the way down, until his cheeks settle flush against Blaine's thighs. He squeezes and relaxes, and then rises and rocks forward, putting his hands on Blaine's chest to balance as Blaine's slide around his waist. They're so big and Kurt's waist is so tiny that they could almost meet at the back if Blaine tried.

"Feel so good," Blaine moans, arching under him. "Oh, god, you feel so good."

It's incredible to let go, let his knees dig into the mattress and his thighs spread and his ass go loose, especially when Blaine begins thrusting up into him, when they find a rhythm that they can share. Kurt slips forward, puts one hand on the bed beside Blaine's shoulder and arches his back, dragging his ass up and down Blaine's cock before settling into a back and forth thrust. 

Grunts and groans pepper the quiet air. Kurt doesn't care if half the house hears them. Blaine is filling him up and he wants it so badly that he can't bring himself to be self-conscious.

When he begins to roll his hips, Blaine's fingernails press into his thighs.

"I'm close," Blaine says, panting.

Kurt whines when Blaine's hand closes around his cock, which has been slapping Blaine's belly to the rhythm of their thrusts for some time now.

"Me too," he confesses, riding Blaine's cock and letting the motion push him through Blaine's hand at the same time.

"What were you dreaming about last night that had you so worked up?" Blaine breathes.

Kurt's forehead crinkles. He's so close that he isn't thinking clearly, he just blurts out, "You coming inside of me."

Blaine's cock pulses, and his ass comes off the bed as he pushes deeper. "Oh, god, oh _god_."

"S-sorry, I know we aren't supposed to—but—I can't help it. I—" He pauses, because he's about to come, and Blaine is pounding up into him, holding his cheeks apart. "Think about it constantly. Feeling your cock jerk and spill, feeling how _wet_ I'd be, feeling it—slide out when you do—white and thick and so, so much of it—"

"Kurt, Kurt, stop, stop, I'm c-coming—"

Kurt pulls off at the very last second, in time to feel Blaine spurt sluggishly over his lower back.

Just before he says something in defense of his confession, Blaine is tugging his hips while simultaneously sliding down the bed beneath him, and—and swallowing the head of his cock as he kneels there, flabbergasted, over Blaine's shoulders.

"Oh my god, Blaine," he gasps, thrusting into Blaine's waiting, wet mouth. It's so odd, so thrilling, Blaine under him, taking his cock from this angle. He can control every thrust.

"Use my mouth," Blaine says.

It takes only a minute more, Blaine sliding two fingers back inside of Kurt's stretched hole while Kurt ruts in and out of his mouth, one hand in his hair and the other on the bed to keep his weight balanced. When he comes it feels like a week's worth of frustration bleeding out of him, Blaine's nose buried in his pubic hair and his balls slapping Blaine's chin, Blaine's fingers corkscrewing his hole open. Blaine looks so good under him, between his thighs, his knees, his gorgeous mouth swollen and red and rimmed with come.

When they're side by side after a very lazy cleanup, limbs tangled and sweet kisses exchanged, Blaine wriggles out of his pants and Kurt out of his thoroughly debauched robe. Blaine sits in his lap as he sits against the headboard of their bed and kisses him.

"You're amazing."

Kurt hums, "Not so bad yourself."

Blaine kisses down his jaw and neck, sliding his arms up and under Kurt's to cup his shoulder blades and draw their bodies tightly together. Kurt closes his eyes and sinks into the embrace, letting the day's stresses go.

"Sweetheart, can—can we talk about something?" Blaine asks.

Kurt blinks. "What is it?"

"You haven't been to see the doctor."

Kurt's stomach sinks. It's true that he's been putting off the appointment in favor of diving back into work, but he knows that this is a poor excuse.

"I don't—it's not you getting pregnant that I'm really interested in just yet, but, sometimes you get a little strange on me, feverish and desperate and it seems to happen in waves, and I think that it might be related to you being a carrier, and I think that we should ask some questions, don't you? It only started happening once we—once I touched you that way, inside, and—"

"I know," Kurt says, flushed to his collarbone. 

He isn't embarrassed. He's just flustered, and he has to admit that it turns him on, talking about it, in an involuntary way that does worry him. 

"You went hot then, just from me bringing it up?" 

"S-sorry, I—"

"God, don't apologize. I just want to know that you're okay, that we aren't doing something that might hurt you or—"

Kurt's cheeks are so warm that they feel tight. He exhales carefully, and edges himself back far enough to hide the fact that he's getting hard again. Blaine has concerns and all Kurt's body wants to do is have sex and he sort of hates that he has no control over it. He feels like a spoiled kid not getting what he wants as soon as he wants it. His hole, which is still tingling from friction and being opened and full and touched, begins to grow warm and sensitive again.

"Honey?"

"I don't think I can—help it," he admits, breathless and flushed and—oh, god, he can't stop his cock from hardening. "I promise that I'll make an appointment. And I do care, I do, it's just—when you start talking about it, when you're close—I can't—"

Blaine's eyes, dark and round, fix on his. "What does it feel like?"

"Like I need it," Kurt says, feeling his cock throb and fill against his leg. "Like I need you. It's—very specific."

"Need what exactly?" Blaine's hands stroke his shoulders.

"Your c-cock inside of me." Kurt inhales. "I get—hot, and loose, and I feel like I could take you dry, it's that—much. All I can think about is getting to you."

"Has this happened at work?"

"Sometimes. Never badly enough to force me to retire, but...yes."

"I need you to tell me if that happens."

"Blaine," Kurt whimpers, "It hasn't, not yet. And I will. I promise." He doesn't even realize that he's kissing Blaine's neck until he feels skin under his open mouth. "W-would you—"

Blaine's hands smooth down his back, to the dip and then beyond to where he's still sticky. "Tell me what you want."

"Lick me? Please? Feels so good when you do that after."

Blaine groans against his throat, then tugs him pelvis-first forward until he's tipping back against the pillows, folded up with Blaine's compact body pressing against his stomach. Blaine shifts down, pushes his legs into the air, bent and folded back, and uses both of his hands to get Kurt's ass spread and tilted.

"You're so hot," Blaine whimpers, kissing along his crack before licking a wet stripe from the bottom all the way to his perineum. "God, you—you're open, still."

"Please," Kurt pants, "please, please, want your tongue."

He gets it, in slow, luxurious passes that make his eyes roll back and his cock jump. It feels so good that he doesn't do anything but lay there and enjoy it, his legs in the air and Blaine's hungry, wet mouth smacking as his jaw and lips and tongue work, lapping Kurt up like he's a treat.

"Oh, honey, oh, god, feels good, so good, just like that," Kurt whines, burying one hand in Blaine's hair and pressing up against his face. "L-licking me just right, cleaning—cleaning off the mess, f-feels—oh, god—"

Blaine digs in, spearing his tongue in and out before drawing back to lick and kiss around Kurt's rim, which is puffy and flushed dark. He slows down in favor of reaching up to tug at Kurt's cock, which isn't fully hard but is close enough to manage. Kurt whimpers, feeling his balls jiggle as Blaine's hand moves around him. Blaine puts his thumb over Kurt's twitching hole, rubs it hard and fast in circles.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his eyes raking Kurt's flushed, trembling, pale body on the bed. 

"So good," Kurt whines, toes curling in midair as Blaine works his entrance, "so good, so good, oh, god, I'm going to come, don't stop, oh, _Blaine_ —" He comes weakly over Blaine's fist, his ass spasming around the pad of Blaine's thumb. "Oh. Oh, that was—"

"God, look at you," Blaine breathes, stroking between his cheeks and licking over the small mess at the head of his cock as it softens and shrinks back into its sheath. "Taste so good. When you—god, Kurt, you even smell different, like sugar, when you get like this."

Panting, Kurt asks, "What?"

"I thought it was just a new lotion or oil or something, since we came home, but—I think it's when you're—like this."

"I smell different to you?" Kurt asks, blinking hazily.

"Yes. Sweet, like I said. Like sugar cookies."

"I'll add 'why do I smell like baked goods?' to the list of questions to ask the doctor."

It's worth making momentary light of their concerns, just to get Blaine to laugh.

 

*

 

Doctor Mereen takes one look at Kurt, laughs, and says, "Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

Kurt has seen her on the compound before, of course, but has never spoken to her.

Blaine smiles and hugs her, to break the ice. "How's the family?"

"Doing well, thanks," she says, adjusting her robe's collar as she leads them down a hallway. "Dad's getting on in years, but he's enjoying what's left of them."

When they're in a private examining room, the mood shifts from casual to professional. Doctor Mereen sits Kurt on the table and Blaine in a chair next to it, and then takes a stack of paper and a pen and sits opposite them.

"Your last examination was right before you moved on-compound," she says, flipping through the papers. "But it was just a standard physical and a test to make sure that you weren't carrying any communicable diseases. Your father declined further testing. He said, and I quote, 'Kurt has been poked and prodded enough for now'."

Kurt smiles, and Blaine laughs.

She smiles back. "First things first. I have a copy of your medical records for you to take with you when you leave. You're of age; you should have them." She laces her hands over her knees. "Secondly—why the two year wait, Kurt? You should have come to us a long time ago."

Kurt's face goes hot. Blaine puts a hand on his leg, and even though he wants to put his hand on Blaine's for comfort he doesn't. The question puts him on the defensive.

"I wasn't aware that there was a timetable," he says.

"The future of this province rests in a scientifically engineered organ in your body, young man," she says, tilting her head. "And it's my job to make sure that it does what it's designed to do."

"Doctor," Blaine says, his voice unsteady, "Kurt was examined for viability, not that long ago."

"The organ changes significantly at his age. I would have requested his presence sooner, but your parents asked that I let him come when he was ready."

Kurt goes still, and then says, carefully, "You're right. I should have been to see you sooner. But I'm here now, and I'd like to learn." Blaine's fingers tighten on his leg.

"Okay," she says, nodding. "Fair enough. Let's begin. Thankfully, this is the quick part. Of the few instruments that we have on hand from this time period, the carrier testing tools are among the best preserved of them. The first is the imaging technology that will scan your torso to find and show us the organ, and the second is the insertion tool that's used to draw fluid from the organ for testing. The third is the machine that processes the sample and tells us key details about your organ." 

As she speaks she shows Kurt and Blaine each tool in turn. The scanning tool is just a long metal beam, and the insertion tool looks like a sewing needle with a fine tip.

"Will that hurt?" Kurt asks, staring at it.

"No, not at all."

"What do they run off of? I don't see a wire or a cord or—"

"We don't know," she says, honestly. "Whatever it is, it's inexhaustible or near to. These tools have been fully functional for a very long time." She stands back. "You'll need to disrobe, please."

"Would you like to be alone with the doctor?" Blaine asks, sounding conflicted.

"No, no, stay, please." Kurt tries not to let his voice crack.

The room is warm, but he still feels cold with fear lying there naked on the examining table. 

Blaine has to step away for the doctor to step in, and Kurt wants him close again, but he only stares up at the ceiling as the doctor flicks the scanning tool to life. Lit up, Kurt can see that it isn't just a beam—it's full of all sorts of complicated wiring and digital panels that he doesn't understand. It gives off a curtain of blue light that goes slightly green when it touches his skin. The light doesn't have heat or a smell, but he still flinches when it pans over his naked flesh.

"You won't feel anything," she explains, "but when the scan is complete, we'll see a three-dimensional image of the inside of your torso, and we can focus in on the organ then."

The inside of the bar rotates, drawing a curtain of shimmering light up and down his torso several times. It makes a soft hissing beep when it's done, changes color from blue to green at its ends, and the doctor steps back.

"Here we go," she says, and presses a button on the center panel.

A clear, bright three-dimensional rendering of Kurt's torso springs to life in mid-air, and even though they had been told what to expect he can't stop the gasp that rises in his throat at the sight of it. It's like nothing that he's ever seen before, and—oh, those are his insides.

"God, that's incredible," Blaine breathes, standing to look at it closer.

"Here we go," she says, pointing with her free hand. "Oh, you're way up front, that's interesting." And there it is—a dark blob sitting low and forward in his abdomen. "We know very little about the stages of experimentation that led the scientists of this age from a to b, unfortunately. But based off of years of hands-on research, we can usually take a good guess as to how advanced or primitive an organ is. Carrying up front like this is an indication of a more advanced organ, so that's a good sign. The later organs mimicked the uterus as closely as possible—we believe that the closer they got to that goal, the better the organ functioned."

Kurt raises a hand, and lets his finger hover just above the shape. 

The image begins to shudder and fracture, and she hits a button, and then another, and it fades.

"Is it—is it gone, or...?"

"The image remains within the device. Let's take the sample, and that paired with the imagining will give us some answers."

The sampling tool connects to the rod via a single, slender wire, and when she hits a button on the side of the rod the very tip of the needle lights up that same bright blue color.

"Is that going inside of me?" Kurt asks, nervous.

"Not as you might think," she says. "As I said before, we don't understand the technology enough to explain how it works, precisely. The needle pierces the flesh without piercing the flesh—it's laser technology, but we don't have the references required to sort out how or why it works."

"Will we have to wait for the results?" Blaine asks.

"No," she says, positioning the needle, "they're almost instant."

It's the strangest feeling, watching the light slide into his abdomen without feeling it at all. There's a vague tingling sensation, and then the bar splutters to life and shoots a sheet of blue light upward, which rapidly fills with what looks like a chemical analysis to Kurt's eye. The words themselves are unfamiliar, but there are numbers and percentages alongside of them.

Blaine sits beside them, puts a hand on Kurt's ankle and asks, "Is it—what does it say?"

"You're stable, and active," she murmurs, her eyes flickering over the words. "I'm seeing large spikes of hormones recently. Not all organs do this. Practically speaking, whether they do or don't doesn't affect pregnancy or birth—that's typically the same from generation to generation—but an organ that has hormone release capabilities is typically more advanced."

"But what does that mean, 'hormone release'? What does it do?"

She sits, carrying the bar carefully with her so that the image remains, and begins taking notes from it as she talks and Kurt dresses. "We believe that it was an attempt to either force or mimic a born female's sexual and reproductive functions. The closer they got to the original product, the better it worked." She motions. "I would need more details to assess your case."

Blaine clears his throat, and looks at Kurt, who opens his mouth and then shuts it. "Uh, well. There have been physical symptoms. Changes, in me, since—since we—"

"Since we began engaging in penetrative acts," Blaine finishes.

"Ah," she says, taking notes on a separate piece of paper. "Manual, oral, penile, or object insertion?"

"All except object," Kurt answers, his cheeks bright red, because isn't that a thought?

"Interesting," she murmurs. "That's something of a first, I believe. For us, at any rate. What sort of changes are we talking about?"

"I get hot flashes. And intense arousal. It's physically and mentally distracting, and very much focused on needing to—copulate with—with Blaine, specifically," Kurt says, and god, could he sound any more juvenile? "And he says that I—to him, at least, we haven't asked anyone else—that I smell different to him. Sweet. When I go into these—heats."

Her face goes smooth at that, but her hand never stops writing. "Fascinating," she says, "truly fascinating. Since the first penetrative act, you say?" When they both nod, she asks, "Kurt, were you not sexually active before relations with Blaine?"

"I wasn't. I—I hadn't engaged in self-pleasure, either."

"Okay." She looks at Blaine. "Have there been any changes in you, Blaine?"

"Other than being weirdly sensitive around Kurt when he's in heat, no."

"And these 'heats'—they abate once you engage in penetrative sex?"

"For the most part, yes," Kurt says. "Sometimes just having an orgasm is enough."

"Is there a pattern to them that you've recognized?"

"No, actually, and that worries us," Kurt says.

"I wouldn't," she says. "Remember: the carrier program never reached its final goal, so if these heats are a byproduct of the hormone release, they may have not been perfected, either. They could very well continue to be random."

Kurt finally allows himself to reach over and take Blaine's hand, which closes around his. "Will they stop once I become pregnant?"

"Again, we can't say. They may, they may not. Are these episodes affecting you to a degree that interrupts your day to day? If so, we can certainly work on a plan of treatment—to take you out of situations that you need to be removed from and allow you to deal with them in private."

Kurt knows how important it is that they not broadcast the more dangerous or possibly complicated aspects of his pregnancy to the public at large, so as not to create a panic.

"Not yet, anyway," he says. "I promised Blaine that if I feel I can't work, I will let him know."

She nods. "That is between the two of you, but I would also insist that you remember not to play the hero. Your health and safety are more important than a stiff upper lip." 

He nods in return, and Blaine's fingers squeeze his. 

"Since you so helpfully brought it up, let's talk about pregnancy," she says, putting her pen down and focusing on them. "According to the test results, you're quite literally chomping at the bit in terms of readiness—your body is healthy, your organ is active, and your hormone levels indicate that there is nothing to stop you from conceiving right away. Do you have questions?"

Kurt has been thinking of nothing but, trying to come up with a comprehensive list. She's already answered many of his questions. 

From the literature that he had read during their retreat, he knows that all they know is the matter in his organ is one half of the life equation, that the seed in Blaine's body is the other half, and that the rectal tube that is a part of his organ assembly is what gets the two together. He knows that there's every chance that it will work and every chance that it won't, just as it is for born males and females. He knows that he has to have surgery for the baby to be born, and that it is very high-risk, as they have to monitor the baby's growth closely the whole way to make sure that they don't operate too soon or too late. He knows that gestation can vary anywhere from five to ten months, depending on the sophistication of the organ.

"From what you've seen," he asks, holding Blaine's hand tightly, "do you think that we have a good chance at doing this soon, and successfully?"

"All of your indicators are good. Does that mean there won't be complications? No. But—I've had patients with more worrying profiles have successful births. You're positioned to do well, and you have the best resources at your disposal."

Blaine looks rather pale, and Kurt tugs his fingers. "Honey? Please say something."

He swallows and clears his throat. "I, uh, sorry. This is all—a lot. I've—I worry. It's what I do."

Doctor Mereen smiles. "Really. Hadn't noticed."

"When it happens," Blaine begins unsteadily, "we'll need to know the time frame...as closely as we can, so that we can make sure Kurt is on-compound when it happens."

"We have ways of tracking growth and using those numbers to project the necessary birth date. It's usually a matter of weeks at that point. It's the best that we can do."

"Is there anything we can do to maximize the chances of success of conception?" Kurt asks.

She smiles. "I always find that a nice meal and a romantic stroll through the gardens—" Blaine laughs, almost hysterically, and Kurt smirks. She stops, and raises her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Honestly, it's no different than any other kind of conception. Relax, enjoy yourself, and above all else, don't stress about it. You are as fertile as that organ allows you to be, and Blaine's last fertility test indicates that he is as well—there is no reason why it should take very long."

Kurt looks at Blaine, who has gone from pale to somewhat pink around the edges again, though the sweat at his hairline indicates that he's still uncomfortable.

"What else?" Kurt whispers. "I just want you to feel better about this."

"I do," Blaine insists. "I truly do. I'm just concerned. These 'heats' worry me."

"It's understandable to feel agitated," Doctor Mereen says. "But as long as they remain superficial and related to copulation, I would not worry." She pauses, and then goes on, "And in terms of overall concerns: in recent years, the success rate of carrier pregnancy has gone up by almost ten percent. In many ways, it's becoming more reliable than natural birth. You may feel free to worry less than those who came before you, and that is our best case scenario, frankly." She shuffles her papers and looks at the clock on the wall. "Unless there's anything else for now, I'll make a copy of this information and we can schedule your next appointment? From now until you give birth, even before you begin trying to conceive, we're going to want to keep a record of Kurt's medical data, to draw comparisons from later on."

"I think we're okay for now," Kurt says. He clears his throat and reaches out to shake her hand. "Again, my apologies for not coming sooner. I'm grateful for your expertise and time, Doctor."

She smiles. "Time is like a bottomless pot at your age." She shakes his hand, and then Blaine's. "Don't miss an appointment and we'll call things even." She motions down the hall. "Your papers and appointment will be at the front desk. Have a good day, gentlemen."

Kurt deflates like a balloon once they're alone. He's numb and mentally exhausted and doesn't even feel Blaine's touch until he's being pulled into Blaine's arms in the middle of the empty hallway. The neatly white-washed walls and sterile smell of the hospital mix with Blaine's scent and warmth and Kurt closes his eyes and lets himself be held.

Blaine rubs his arms, his back, his shoulders. "Okay?"

"Now I see why we took the day off for this," Kurt admits, snuffling to clear his sinuses and burying his face against Blaine's neck. "I feel like I've been stepped on by a few dozen feet."

"It's a good thing, then, that I told them to bring lunch and a change of clothes to your garden, where we will be spending the rest of the afternoon," Blaine says.

Kurt's heart pounds. "Oh, god, you are perfect."

He hardly feels his feet make the walk there, but by the time that they arrive his toe is twinging from rubbing against his sandal and he all but collapses onto the grass. There's a food basket, a chilled bottle of wine, and what amounts to a pair of outdoor-friendly pajamas.

Blaine sits near his feet, taking them one by one to unlace and remove his sandals. He rubs at Kurt's ankles and toes, pressing the arches of his feet before taking a soft cloth to them to remove the road dust. When that's done, he opens the wine and pours them both a generous glass. 

They unwind in comfortable silence after they change into their lounging clothes. Blaine eats, and feeds Kurt bites of the plum tart that he loves so much, and by the time that they go for glass number two of wine Kurt's head is in his lap.

"How are you?" Kurt asks, lazily buzzing from the drink. "I didn't ask."

"My brain is sore," he answers, smiling, and running his fingers through Kurt's hair. "But—okay." He strokes a hand down Kurt's side. "Does it feel odd? No aftereffects?"

Kurt smiles. "Not a thing."

Blaine's hand stops low on his abdomen where they now know the organ is, and strokes over the spot. "It's right there."

"So it is."

"It's a blob."

Kurt giggles. "I'm sure that it's more impressive when you actually take it apart and understand it."

"Sorry, I'm just—trying to be funny."

"I'm trying to be drunk. I suppose we'll both reach our goals in the end," Kurt says, sipping from his glass.

There's a quiet moment, full of the rustle of warm air over and around the temperature shield that frames the circular garden. The water in the pond bubbles softly, the flowers waft a sweet scent over them, and Blaine asks the question that Kurt knows has been on his mind all day.

"Are you ready to start trying?"

Kurt finishes off his glass, sets it aside and rolls so that he's facing Blaine, sitting up on his elbows. "No, sweetheart." He kneels on the grass, frames Blaine's face with his hands and kisses him. "Let's just—be us, for a little while longer."

"Okay," Blaine says, smiling into the kiss. "Okay."

 

*

 

They spend August largely apart.

Kurt makes an event out of a round of social calls that he feels are well overdue. 

He takes a couple of helpers and Sam and visits Lucy (who gets him spectacularly drunk and makes him confess just how amazing Blaine is in bed), Marley (whose family is such a whirlwind that they hardly get to speak, but she seems well), Arthur (his wife's shop's backroom full of the wails of their young daughter), and Ben (they do discuss wardrobe updates, but Kurt tries to make him relax instead of talk shop, and succeeds to a certain degree), making sure to never be empty-handed. He has gifts to distribute that he's either made or collected since their last visits, little things that smooth over whatever awkwardness there is leftover from the fact that he hardly had the time to thank them at his wedding. 

He takes the children from the manor on a weekend lake trip, lavishing them with toys and treats and stories until they are all run ragged from too much excitement and he has become the "best ever" in most of their eyes again (it doesn't take much, he has to admit). 

He pays personal visits to the heads of the industries that he oversees, bearing baked goods and soliciting not work orders or inventory lists but conversation about their families and extra-curricular activities. 

He makes sure not to miss his next doctor appointment and, though it's not with Doctor Mereen, has a cheeky message sent to her through one of the other doctors regardless.

Finally, he spends a full afternoon with his mother-in-law and a full evening with his father-in-law, plying them with their favorite foods and making sure that they are relaxed and happy with he and Blaine's efforts in their place. Semi-retirement looks well on them both.

After that it's letters—he is woefully behind on correspondence with his family. He writes to his dad about the retreat, asks after Finn's engagement, and shoots off a separate note for Carole (his dad's birthday is coming up and though he may not have the time to visit, he wants to arrange a gift regardless).

He's exhausted, but it's all worth it.


	14. Chapter 14

Kurt has been taking his duties very seriously—perhaps a little too seriously.

Blaine has to admit that it's quite the change, being the one who gets home on time. On some nights, he waits up for Kurt. On others, he falls asleep and wakes up when Kurt gets in. Either way, it's usually him that's doing the waiting.

Among other things, he has begun to take care of his own needs.

Tonight had been one of those nights. He had taken his time, had called up one of his favorite fantasies of Kurt on top of him, pressing him into the bed, kissing him and then taking him into his mouth, and had used it all the way through a slow but satisfying stroke. At the very last moment he'd decided that he needed something more, something that Kurt has never done to him, and had taken the lotion and the wood-and-leather toy from the depths of a box that's been hiding in his retiring room, and had used it to open himself up. He'd finished only a short while ago. 

Kurt is earlier than usual tonight, and Blaine isn't thinking about the mess that he's left behind when Kurt crawls into bed and kisses him, the toy still tangled in their sheets. Kurt's leg knocks against it, and he lifts his mouth from Blaine's throat to stare down at the object.

"Mm, sweetheart, don't stop, c'mon," Blaine murmurs, reaching for him. He hasn't been home this early in weeks—they're both actually awake—and Blaine wants him, so badly.

"Is that what it looks like?" Kurt asks, his brow furrowed.

"Oh," Blaine says. "Um, yes."

Kurt's eyes go very green, very fast, and the pulse at his throat slams faster. "Oh. _Oh_."

Blaine stares up at him, feeling him go stiff. "Kurt—"

"I haven't been satisfying you," he says, quick and breathless, his eyes glazing over.

"Kurt, no."

"I keep meaning to take my time, to explore your body the way that you have mine, but then I fall asleep on top of you, or I get drawn into one of those damned heats and I forget, and—you're—you're doing this to yourself when you're alone because I—I'm not—I've never even asked if you wanted that from me, what's _wrong_ with me...?"

"Honey, honey, stop, just, stop," Blaine stammers, sitting up and dragging Kurt into his arms. "I should have said something. I should have just told you, I'm sorry."

"I'm working too much," Kurt groans. "I'm not here enough, am I?"

Blaine bites his lip, and then breathes out, "You are amazing. You are—more than amazing."

Kurt grips Blaine's jaw, drags him in close and kisses him, almost roughly. "I want to make you happy. More than anything else."

"You do."

"I can do better."

Kurt twists his fingers in Blaine's hair, presses him back against the bed, kneels between his legs and kisses him again, spearing Blaine's mouth with his tongue and drawing his arms above his head to pin them against their pillows.

"You like it the other way around?" he asks, breathing heavily against Blaine's trembling mouth.

Blaine's body aches at the question. 

In truth, in most of his previous relationships, he had been the receiving partner more often than not. None of that had ever seemed to matter with Kurt, though; he has adored everything that they've done together and then some—he loves Kurt's ass, loves looking at it and tasting it and feeling it and being inside of it, loves how much Kurt enjoys being touched there.

But he has missed being full. He's fantasized about Kurt switching things up for months, and thinking about it now with Kurt over him, suddenly aware of his desire for it, is almost too much.

He's shaking, and he's getting hard again, and god, he _just_ finished.

"Oh my god, that thing is huge," Kurt comments, when he doesn't speak up.

"It's one of my smaller ones, actually. Do you not realize how big you are, it's not even—as big as you."

Kurt pulls back, stares down into Blaine's lust-blown eyes and takes his mouth again, tongue and teeth first. "Is that what you want, sweetheart?" He lowers his voice, noses down Blaine's neck and laces their fingers on the pillows above their heads. "Is that what you were thinking about when you used it all by yourself?"

"Yes," Blaine confesses, whimpering. "Thought about your—your cock, so big and hard, f-forcing me open around it, just—god, Kurt, I n-need you—needed it for so long now."

"Hngh," Kurt hisses, rutting along Blaine's belly. "Do you need more lotion?"

"No," he spits, dragging Kurt down against him. 

It's been years, but hooking his knees over another man's arms comes to him as easily as breathing. Kurt is already tearing at his own pants, tugging the buttons that make up the front of them open. He's hardly out of them before Blaine is touching him, stroking him.

God, he's _huge_. Does he even have any idea? Can he?

It doesn't matter in this moment. Blaine is ravenous and Kurt is between his legs and months of fantasies are about to come true. He feels badly about not speaking up, is upset that Kurt had never thought to ask, but—they can talk later. They will talk later. Right now, he just needs his husband's cock inside of him.

"Let me," he breathes, pressing Kurt to where he's still stretched wide and slick with lotion.

"Blaine," Kurt sobs, as he sinks inside.

Blaine knows how hot, how tight, and how smooth he is; he'd spent more than his fair share of time after coming with the toy buried inside of his ass, working himself through the aftershocks, making his cock jerk until it had actually hurt, pretending that it had been Kurt's cock instead.

"Go slow, I can't," Kurt moans, his hips snapping to complete the initial thrust. "Oh my god."

"Move," Blaine begs, lifting his legs to Kurt's shoulders, "just move, just do it fast."

It's choppy and messy but Kurt does it, and he's so thick and so long that it's hard to go wrong, and Blaine sees white—the fullness invades his belly, sends jolts of sensation down his legs and up the shaft of his cock and feels so right, so perfect, and he's babbling, he can't stop it.

"Yes, yes, yes, please, oh, god, Kurt, oh god yes love just—just there, just like that, harder, harder, it's okay."

It's blind pressure and he feels like he's being split in half and Kurt is panting and sweating and gorgeous above him, all lean lines and flushed pink skin and his hair a mess from Blaine's fingers and his neck, oh, his neck and shoulders—Blaine bites them, sucks them, kisses them, until Kurt is hissing and twitching. His hands apply the same mania to Kurt's back and ass and hips, grabbing, clawing, twisting, until he knows that he's leaving marks and Kurt is groaning and throwing his head back to breathe.

"I can't last," Kurt gasps, slamming into him again and again and again.

It's too much, too intense, too fast—Blaine's cock is throbbing and jumping and he's so close.

"Come in me," he cries, hooking his ankles and digging his heels into Kurt's back, "come in me, come in me, you can."

Kurt shouts—actually _shouts_ —when he comes, pushing into Blaine so fast and rough that they're rocking into the headboard and Blaine is almost bent in half.

He can't feel it when it happens but he does when Kurt swivels his hips after, the fat swollen width of his cock smearing the mess of his come deep inside and Blaine moans, clenches up around the slick wetness, his toes curled in midair and his thighs shaking with the intensity of it. He clamps up tight, holds Kurt inside and writhes his pelvis, wanting to feel it.

"God," he breathes, his arms flung out at his sides, "your cock feels so good inside of me."

Kurt's quivering, from his biceps to his calves. "Wasn't ready for that, oh, god, I wanted you to come before I did—" He pants, and then before Blaine can figure out what he's decided to do, he's got the toy in his hand and is staring at Blaine with wild determination. "Can I...?"

"Oh, my god, Kurt," Blaine gasps, as Kurt rubs the toy against his friction-swollen rim and presses it inside. He's still getting used to it when Kurt bends low over his torso and swallows his cock. His head begins to bob almost immediately and Blaine cries out, putting a hand in his hair as he twists the toy out and then back in. "Honey, p-please, so close, just, keep doing that." 

He comes buried to the hilt in Kurt's mouth, his ass off the bed and stuffed so full, colors popping behind his eyelids as the orgasm snaps through his body.

He's still pulsing little jolts of come when Kurt pulls off of him with a wet pop and a gasp, pushing the toy deep again. The sight of Kurt's wet fingers around the dark wooden toy, pushing it into his body, is almost enough to trigger a secondary orgasm. He sobs, his legs falling to the bed.

"Kurt, Kurt, _god_."

"Look at you take that," Kurt whispers, enthralled, at the shining wood sliding in and out of Blaine's ass. "You're just _swallowing_ it, like you could take even more."

"I could," Blaine admits, whining, pressing down around the toy. "I could, if you wanted me to."

When Kurt pulls it out, it's streaked with his come, and Blaine whimpers before he can stifle it. Kurt touches his thighs, pets the hair against the grain and presses his ass up again. His eyes are wide and wet and almost hungry, as he watches his come leak sluggishly out of Blaine's hole.

He lowers his face in between Blaine's cheeks and licks at it, groans, and then licks again.

Blaine's back arches. "K-Kurt, gentle, p-please, I'm so—so sore."

The toy, Kurt's cock, and now the toy again—he's almost at his limit.

"I will, I'll just, I'll lick you so softly, honey, just let me taste it on you," Kurt murmurs, dragging his tongue over where Blaine is red and abused and stretched and streaked with his come.

Blaine sobs, turning his head and burying his hands in Kurt's hair, cradling it, feeling Kurt's day's worth of stubble scrape his sensitive cheeks. He floats on top of the feeling, warmth and affection rolling through him in waves. He doesn't even know how long it goes on, he just knows that at some point he looks down and Kurt is kissing his thighs.

"You are gorgeous," Kurt whispers, kissing up and over his hip bone, "you are perfect, and I—I am going to make this up to you, I promise."

"We both sort of missed a mark somewhere along that line."

Kurt's mouth and the skin around it is scrubbed raw from what he'd been doing and Blaine kisses him there, rolls them onto their sides away from the wet spots and the toy lying there on the blankets, and tastes tang and salt on Kurt's mouth and thrills that it's—them, their skin and their musk and Kurt's mess all mixed together.

"That was incredible," Kurt breathes, nudging their noses side by side. "God, that was—intense."

"Understatement," Blaine says, his chest rising and falling unevenly. They cool off, and when he speaks next, it's without hesitation. "You have been working a lot of extra hours."

"I know," Kurt says, rolling over onto his stomach and looping one arm around Blaine's waist. "I just—I want to be good for them. I want to do everything that I can."

"You'll burn out," Blaine says. "And—that's your choice, but I want to advise you against it. You don't need to work until you collapse at the end of the day. You often do things that your team should be doing for you. They aren't taking advantage of you; they just aren't pushing the issue because they respect you and they want to let you make the calls. But have them do the grunt work, the running, and the errands. Anna is brilliant, Kurt. Let her shine, and give yourself a break." He sighs, and puts his hand on Kurt's on his chest. "I miss you. I feel like we haven't spoken in weeks. I know what it feels like to struggle with delegation—it took Trent and I years before we struck a balance."

"I miss you, too. And you're right. I just—there's so much that needs doing."

Blaine kisses his hair. "My little overachiever."

"You were the same! You just hit your peak a long time ago, old man."

Blaine's mouth drops open. "Oh, that's it. Now you're in trouble."

Kurt's shrieks and giggles as Blaine tickles him. "I take it back! Ah!"

Their unusually vocal evening provides a few days of amusement in the house, at least—Trent rolls his eyes at Blaine at breakfast the next morning so hard that it looks painful, and when Blaine coughs and looks away he says, "We'll have to re-insulate the walls. Or perhaps I shall move out."

"Alright, now you're just exaggerating," Blaine shoots back.

"I learned things that I had no desire to learn last night, Blaine Devon Anderson."

"Oh god. The full name treatment. Was it that bad?"

A serving lad who can't be a day over sixteen breezes past with a tray of rolls and tosses over his shoulder, "I suppose we can add yet another item to Kurt's already impressively long list of skills."

Blaine grumbles.

Trent snorts into his eggs.

"I can eliminate your positions, you realize," he mutters.

"I'd like to see you try," Trent says, winking at him.

 

*

 

The first time that Kurt has a heat that truly frightens him, he's in a meeting with two village governors who have brought a boundary dispute to his table that must be mediated before the day ends, or trade agreements of several kinds between the two villages will be immediately effected. Kurt is familiar with both sides of the claim, and has a good idea of how to pacify them while also meeting their needs. 

They are several hours into the conversation when the first wave of dizziness hits him. At first he just chalks it up to a too-light breakfast, and pauses to eat a piece of fruit from the bowl at the center of the table. He follows that with a mug of water. 

Ten minutes later he feels no better. In fact, he feels worse, and the room is tilting. Heat settles in his joints and muscles, and before long it feels as if his blood is rising just beneath his skin all over his body. His head pounds and his heart begins to race, and he opens his mouth and almost groans aloud before he remembers where he is.

This is when he begins to realize that he's losing control of himself.

_Don't play the hero_ , Doctor Mereen had said.

He clears his throat, and says, "Excuse me. If I might suggest a break? The use of the facilities, perhaps?"

When the room is empty of everyone but Anna and himself, he falls back into his chair. The impact jars his body, but mostly it makes him aware that certain parts of his anatomy are demanding attention in ways that they should not be given the situation.

"I need you to find Blaine," he says, "and tell him to meet me in our rooms."

She blinks at him, and then her face goes smooth. They'd discussed this possibility and, even though this is the first time that it's occurred, she's prepared.

"I have your notes," she says, walking him out into the foyer. "Don't worry." She waylays a passing serving girl. "See Kurt to his rooms. He's feeling ill. I've already sent for the doctor."

Kurt isn't even sure where Blaine is, aside from the fact that he's on-compound. It could take hours, depending on what he's engaged in, but if Anna tells him exactly what's happening—oh, who is Kurt kidding? He knows that Blaine will drop anything and everything to get to him.

As soon as he's alone in their rooms, he undresses. He stands under an ice cold shower spray just to bring himself some superficial relief, and also in an attempt to slow the dizziness. 

His cock is hard as a rock, standing vertical against his stomach, and his ass is literally pulsing, softening and stretching without a single touch.

He begins to grow confused. 

He'd meant to towel off and put something comfortable on, but instead he finds himself kneeling at the foot of their bed with a jar of lubricating lotion in his hand, and he's not sure of how because he doesn't remember thinking to do it, and doesn't remember executing the physical motions necessary to have done it. He breathes out, but it feels like it's in slow motion and everything—everything is like that, like he's underwater.

He falls forward onto his hands and knees at the end of the bed, and then when he realizes he needs his hands he presses his cheek and shoulders to the bed instead and slides his hands between his legs, hears his own whine when his slicked right hand slides between his cheeks from underneath. His other hand hooks around, gropes along his ass so that he can hold himself open. The angle is terrible, but it's close enough; his arms are long. They slide messily over and past his hole, which is swollen up and fluttering, and oh, it feels good.

But it's not enough. It's not nearly enough.

He presses one finger inside, and then another, and then another. With each, there's a brief flicker of intense pleasure, gone before he can relax into it.

He starts rocking on his knees, driving himself back onto his hand. He's four fingers deep now, and can't get his thumb at the right angle to join the others, so he's just desperately rutting around the ones that he has lodged inside.

His eyes roll back in his head.

And then his vision shifts, and something like the smell of woodsmoke tickles his nostrils. He turns his feverish cheek on the bedspread in the direction of the door and—

Blaine.

_Oh._

_Blaine Blaine Blaine._

Blaine is asking him something, rushing to his side, and he hears himself say, "I couldn't wait," over the wet noise of his fingers moving inside of himself.

He isn't even sure how, but he gets Blaine's belt open, and Blaine's cock behind two layers of clothing under his open, searching mouth.

Blaine gasps, "Kurt," and then he hears the word _doctor_ and panics.

"No," he whimpers, tugging Blaine's pants and underwear down. 

He's soft, but Kurt knows how to fix that, and before Blaine can say another word he's licking wet tracks up and down Blaine's cock, sucking the fleshy hood between his lips until it rolls back and he can take the bare head into his mouth. 

He feels delirious, mindless with wanting. 

Blaine's cock is the most delicious thing that he's ever had on his tongue. He sucks it like he was born knowing exactly how, letting it into his throat once it grows stiff enough—doing so causes him no distress, no discomfort, no choking or gagging. He hears the wet, hollow slurping, feels Blaine's fingers on his face slide into the hair at his temples and twist, and he moans.

Blaine is hardening in his mouth, fattening up on his tongue.

There's a blur. Kurt feels the bedspread under his shoulders and knees, feels Blaine move and again, there's that panic, and he hears words come out of his mouth.

"Need you," he moans, his knees sliding apart on the very edge of the bed, his naked feet dangling in the air. Blaine is standing behind him, holding his hips to keep him upright, his own pants open and his cock jutting out from the undone laces. "Need you, need you inside, need it."

"I've got you, love, shh," Blaine replies, and there's relief, because oh, oh, that means he's staying, that means he's—

Blunt pressure against Kurt's hole sends a spiral of relief out to his extremities. Blaine slides into him in one perfect thrust. He gasps, arches his back, sticks his ass in the air and takes it.

"Yes," he cries, turning his face into the mattress and holding onto it with both hands when Blaine begins moving inside of him, quick and rough and slippery.

It feels like nothing else that's come before it—like his ass is connected to his cock, to his nipples, to the sensitive spots on his neck and shoulders, to the pounding heart in his chest. 

He feels like a network of wires being lit up section by section until he's just one huge map of glowing fibers and screaming electronic hums.

Blaine scoots up close behind him, makes him sit up on his knees and hold onto the bedpost with both hands, and the angle sends him down and back, hard, around Blaine's cock, and it's so good that he actually blacks out for several seconds.

When he swims back to the surface he realizes that he'd come all over the bed without his cock being touched, and that Blaine is still inside of him, and that he's going to come again.

He chokes on a groan and looks down just in time to see his cock, stiff as a board and jolting in midair, shoot ropes of come across the blankets, over and over again, in time with Blaine's thrusts, in time with the pulse beneath his skin.

His eyes roll back and he groans, grasping the bedpost.

It happens a third time, and after that his vision begins to go clear. Blaine stays inside of him, trembling with the effort to hold back. Only when Kurt is breathing somewhat evenly and not burning to the touch does Blaine pull out and spill placidly with a grunt over his cheeks.

He's covered in sweat and fluids and when he tries to stand up his arms and legs turn to jelly. Blaine steadies him, holds him around the waist and guides him back onto the bed.

"Was that the first time this has happened?" Blaine asks, breathing roughly, hanging out of his open pants sticky and spent.

"Like this? Yes," Kurt answers, shaking. "P-please, need to be close to you."

"Of course, god, of course," Blaine says, and oh—being in his arms feels almost as good as those orgasms had. Kurt shivers and burrows deeper against his chest, nerve endings firing.

"Honey, this is scaring me."

"Never this bad before," Kurt murmurs. It's never lingered this way before, either. He feels dizzy and uncomfortable and—it should have been gone by now.

"Kurt? Can you—here, come lay down for me."

It's so nice to just do as he's told. He sprawls out on his back, spreads his legs and arms and lets the comfortably firm mattress support him.

"I'm going to go get a damp cloth and clean you a little, alright? I'll be gone for one moment."

Kurt bites his lip the whole time to hold back the panic at putting distance between them. He feels foolish, but he has no control over the surge of worry that he feels when Blaine walks away.

But then there's a soft, warm cloth sweeping the sweat and come from his skin, and it feels so good that he moans, his palms flat on the bed and his back arching. Blaine watches him, watches his body twist on the blankets, watches his beaded nipples and bumpy skin and his heavy, soft cock and balls between his thighs.

Kurt tries to smile, and manages a wobbly one. "Mm, see you looking."

"You're so relaxed now. And you smell—you smell so sweet. It's distracting."

Kurt feels the heat on his face when he licks his lips and reaches for Blaine's hands. "Do you want me again?" he asks, slinking onto his knees, boneless and wanton, straddling Blaine's lap with ease. "You can have me again," he says, nosing into Blaine's sweaty temple. The dizziness shifts. "You can have me however you want me." He gropes in between Blaine's legs.

"Love, I wish I had that brief of a recovery time," Blaine says, kissing him.

Kurt groans, and writhes in Blaine's lap, shoulder to pelvis, like a snake. Blaine's hands cup his ass as it rolls back into them. He feels warm, still, not in the overwhelming, passing out sort of way from before, but still greedy and thoughtless and off-kilter.

"Put your fingers in me," he rasps, winding his arms around Blaine's neck, locking them at the elbow. "Know you want to. Know you want to feel how tight I am."

"God, Kurt," Blaine huffs, pushing his fingers down to part Kurt's cheeks. His fingertips catch easily and Kurt inhales, his thighs tensing, his back going straight. 

"Come on," he whines, rocking back, "come on, all of them, give me all of them."

Two becomes three becomes four so easily. Kurt groans at the relief of being full and sits down onto Blaine's fingers, writhing side to side, dragging them against his insides.

"M-make me come," he moans, holding Blaine's head inside of a cage of his forearms. "Need to come again, please, please."

When it happens for the last time, Blaine's fingers working him open and his own hand pulling his cock, it drains whatever he has left. He collapses, his body vibrating and quite sore. His body begins to cool, and he knows without knowing exactly how that the heat is over.

"Did I take you away from something important?" he asks, feeling weak.

"Nothing is more important than you," Blaine replies.

"Seriously."

Blaine smiles. "No. Nothing important."

 

*

 

Another doctor's appointment, and hearing "there isn't anything that we can do, and the heats don't seem to be doing anything debilitating to his body" doesn't satisfy either of them. 

Blaine is frustrated and worried and, if he's being honest, embarrassed at how easy it is to stop being both of those things when Kurt is tearing his clothes off and riding him into the nearest surface while begging for more.

It happens every couple of weeks, and they've noticed that it seems to happen during the day now, which is odd, because on their retreat it had happened almost exclusively at night. Again, he frets over the lack of literature. Their doctors—both on-compound and off, and also the ones from other provinces—are all convinced that the heats are simply the result of how high-functioning and advanced Kurt's organ is.

"It was activated and now it's waiting to do its job," one of the letters reads. "It will probably continue to function this way until the first pregnancy."

When Blaine had replied, "Why just the first pregnancy, in your opinion?" the response had been, "Often, carrier organs fail after the first pregnancy, or sometimes go dormant, or sometimes, even if they last, only have one hormone run."

It's all theories and assumptions, and Blaine knows that he should be grateful for even that, but—this is Kurt's life, Kurt's health, and he can't be satisfied by the factual equivalent of shrugs and blank looks. He sends away to every extra-province connection that he has, begging for literature or accounts of carriers. Nothing much comes of it.

His parents try to talk him down. Kurt does, too, citing that the heats only come every now and then, and that if they tend to them as soon as they begin, they don't last long. They predictably end after Kurt has a few orgasms, and even though his day is essentially over afterward, it's no hardship to let Anna run the show while he recovers.

"When I'm pregnant," Kurt says, "I'm going to be spending so much time worrying about my organ, so much time in the hospital and with the doctors—let's not burn out on it now."

And what choice does Blaine have but to calm down? If Kurt can, then surely he can.

 

*

 

It's well past midnight, and Blaine is alone in bed. He wakes up lonely and overheated, so he gets out of bed and follows sound and light through to Kurt's retiring room. 

He stops at the door but doesn't make a sound, staring with hungry eyes at the sight of his husband in nothing but snug underwear, sitting on a stool in front of his sewing table. There's a smear of grease over his right cheekbone and light cascading yellow over his naked back and shoulders as his hands work intently at something that involves a very long needle. His hair is a riot of thick strands sticking up every which way.

"Everything alright?" Blaine asks. Kurt stiffens in surprise, but then smiles when Blaine crosses the room and sits sideways across his lap.

"I went to check the cooling panel, but it's working. And then I started in on this little clock that I've been working on, but the smell of grease made me feel sick, so I switched to the dolls."

Blaine licks his thumb and wipes oil from Kurt's cheek. "I see that," he says, and then leans in to kiss Kurt's neck. "You were restless earlier."

"I napped this afternoon. Not the best idea."

Blaine tugs Kurt's earlobe between his teeth and, breathing warm over the skin, says, "Beds are not only for sleeping."

He feels Kurt smile. "Mm."

He kisses down Kurt's neck to his shoulder. "I think you're lying when you say that you aren't helping down at the sheds. I swear your shoulders grow wider every day."

"You don't have to flatter me to get me into bed," Kurt says, laughing as Blaine settles suggestively against his lap.

"In that case—come back to bed and take off my clothes, husband."

It's a lazy shuffle back to the bed, Blaine's arms around Kurt's neck and Kurt's fingers tugging his pajamas off piece by piece. By the time that Kurt is kneeling naked over his hips he's eager for more—he'd woken half-hard, so it doesn't take much to get him the rest of the way; all it takes are a few wet bobs of Kurt's mouth and he's spreading his legs.

"Kurt," he moans, lifting up.

Kurt takes the hint and kisses lower.

He shivers as Kurt's mouth settles where he wants it the most. Kurt's single-mindedness translates just as well here as it does in all things, and before long Blaine is panting, flushed to his nipples and gasping out his pleasure to the canopy of their bed.

When Kurt begins firmly and steadily rocking the width of his tongue in and out of Blaine's ass, Blaine fumbles for the lotion jar on the bedside table. Kurt kisses at his cheeks, his balls, and the base of his cock, then thumbs his hips and smiles up at him.

"Turn over for me?" he asks, crouched like a cat over Blaine's trembling body.

Blaine holds his breath—the feeling of Kurt's warm, hard, long body shaping itself to the slope of his back and ass and legs makes him desperate, and when Kurt kisses the back of his neck he inhales audibly, rocking his ass against Kurt's cock, whining. 

He wants it. He wants it so badly.

"Got you," Kurt says, lifting up and then resettling at the proper angle, rubbing the head of his cock against Blaine's pucker, working the lotion in as he does so.

Blaine whimpers, turns his face into the crook of his elbow and presses back. He loves being on his belly with Kurt over his back, loves the way that it feels to be cocooned by his husband's body, loves how easy and perfect the slide of his cock is at this angle, pressing in with no catch.

It never feels any less intense, the blunt press of a cock spreading his ass open, and it has never felt as loving as it does with Kurt. Kurt hitches his pelvis once, then grinds deep, then pulls out and pushes back in, and they moan together.

"God, so good," Blaine says, digging his knees into the bed and rolling his ass up.

Kurt laces their hands on the pillows above Blaine's head and begins rocking slowly, in and out of Blaine's ass, panting against his puffy curls. Blaine drowns in the rhythmic rocking of their bodies, and lets the pressure inside of him begin to build.

"Want to see your face," Kurt rasps after a short while, and Blaine groans, flips his leg and then his torso up, rolling over without completely detaching them.

Kurt whimpers, takes his mouth in a rough kiss and slams his wrists into the mattress. Blaine's legs bend and spread out from his sides and Kurt kisses down his neck as his back arches up, steeling his pelvis against the rhythmic slap of Kurt's hips.

"Close," Blaine sobs, when Kurt fists his cock.

"Come for me," Kurt says, tugging, his thumb strumming over the head rapidly.

It's too much, too good, at just the right moment, and Blaine feels his balls tighten—he soaks Kurt's knuckles with short pulses, crying out with each throb. When he cracks his eyelids open, he finds Kurt staring at him with wide eyes.

"You are so beautiful when you come," he says, sounding awed.

Blaine smiles, and despite it all he finds himself blushing hot down his neck and ears, which is saying something, as he's already rather hot. "So are you," he says, and swivels his hips. "Mm, come on. Let me see you come, too."

"Living vicariously," Kurt murmurs, holding his legs up.

"Is that so?"

"Don't you think about it? Coming inside of me?"

Blaine's hips jolt. "You know that I do."

"I think about it all the time," Kurt says, his eyelids fluttering shut as their bodies slap together. "God, Blaine, I want you to, I want—want that." He gasps. "I want to feel it, and everyone to see my belly swell and know that we _did that_ , that you did that, filled me up and put it inside of me—"

"We did say that we wouldn't make that decision while our cocks were hard," Blaine reminds him, grinning as the quip makes Kurt laugh even as he's about to come.

"Why must you always be the responsible one?"

"Because as lovely as it sounds," Blaine says, dropping a kiss on Kurt's mouth with every pause while he kneads Kurt's ass with his hands, "as often as I fantasize about spending myself inside of this gorgeous ass until I can't feel my extremities, as often as I imagine working a plug inside of you to hold it all in, time and time again, until you grow round and full with my child, I want—I need it to be a smart, mutual decision, love."

"Oh my _god_ , are you—are we going to be doing that, with the—plug?" Kurt whimpers, going still.

"If you want to," Blaine murmurs. The plug method had been mentioned in some of the literature. "Keep you stretched, so that I could just take it out and slot right back inside of you, rut through the slickness of my mess again, and again—"

"Blaine," Kurt hisses. Blaine's fingernails dig into his ass and drag him deeper. 

"Know just what you want, sweetheart, and I promise, when the time comes, I will make it so good for you, I will make every second of it something that you _dream_ about," Blaine says, rocking his ass up and down Kurt's cock. He feels it when Kurt falls apart, feels the rigid tension break and hears him cry out. He squeezes himself around Kurt's throbbing cock. 

"There we go," he drawls, milking every last drop. "Mm, that's my big boy."

It's a nickname that he only trots out during their most passionate and private of moments, and it never fails to make Kurt lose his composure. Kurt has never admitted it, but Blaine knows that he loves it, knows that flirty, pleased sparkle in his eye so well by now.

"Oh," Kurt whimpers, shaking. "You are so good at that."

After they cool off and doze for a moment, Blaine burrows his nose and mouth into the sweaty hair at Kurt's temple and says, "The heats upset you, don't they? You're always so much happier when we have sex without them."

"I'm not sure if 'upset' is the right word." Kurt sighs, rubs his rough cheek against Blaine's smooth chest and then resettles. "I don't like feeling weak. Or as if I need to be taken care of. That's not all of what I feel when I'm down there, but it's a part of it."

"There isn't a weak bone in your body," Blaine says, reaching up to stroke Kurt's hair off of his warm forehead. "And when you're with me, you never, ever need to worry about appearances or assumptions. You are everything to me, Kurt. And even if we find superficial pleasure in those episodes in order to take the edge of worry off of them, we should not hesitate to do so. You're safe with me, and I'm safe with you, and that's all that matters."

"You give so easily," Kurt says, playing with Blaine's curls. "I envy you that ability."

"We all have our individual talents."

"You sound like your dad," Kurt says, smiling.

"He has managed to cram a few things into my head over the years." He smiles, carding his fingers through Kurt's hair. "The dolls and the toys—are they for...?"

Kurt smiles, and shrugs. "Maybe."

"I was with the horse master yesterday, and he asked me if I wanted him to put a pony aside."

Kurt's cheeks go pink. "Really?"

Blaine nods. "I told him when we got to actually conceiving a child I'd let him know."

Kurt laughs. "That might have to be the first step, yes." He smiles. "And if you're going to do that, then I get to build our child a tiny transport with foot pedals and streamers and shiny paint."

Blaine laughs, dropping his head to the pillows. "Oh, god."

"Don't you dare try to stop me, Blaine Anderson. You won't succeed."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Kurt smiles, propping his chin up on Blaine's chest. "This is the first time that we've talked about this with ease."

"You make me brave."

"We make each other brave."

Blaine grins, biting his bottom lip, and nods.


	15. Chapter 15

The Apple Festival is held early this year—by almost two months, in fact, because the snows are slated to come sooner than they had last year.

It's interesting, being fully on the planning end this time around. Kurt does his best to suit everyone's tastes. He also seems to be volunteering quite a lot more, especially on the first day, with the children. He has a starring role in three plays and one musical, and has been asked, along with Blaine, to stop at a variety of guild stalls in advance of their opening.

In truth, it's less fun and more work, but he doesn't mind.

Blaine—who makes it home in time for the festival this year—attends dressed in beautiful dark red with bright green notes, so Kurt decides to go with an earth tone for contrast and dresses in a fitted tunic and pants of deep chocolate brown with dark red wrist ties and boots. He puts blood red gems in his earlobes and lines his eyes with the same color. The ensemble is gloriously revealing, and from the start of the day he feels Blaine's—and others'—eyes on him. He spends so much time in work robes now that it's nice to be noticed for a change.

After one of the plays, Kurt ends up with a young child in his lap while he speaks with the child's parents, and Blaine comes in from seeing to something. He catches Blaine's eye over the little boy's head—something warm and soft plays across Blaine's face, and Kurt blushes. He waves one of the boy's hands at Blaine, who goes pink and folds his arms behind his back.

And then the baby throws up applesauce all over Kurt's shirt with a loud retch, and when Kurt tries to clean him off before handing him back to his parents, he whacks Kurt so hard on the nose that it starts to bleed. As the child's parents apologize, Kurt laughs until he almost cries at the distress on Blaine's face, and accepts a cloth to pinch his nose when Blaine rushes to offer it.

He strips off his outer tunic, revealing the dark brown undershirt beneath, and excuses himself from the child's parents, tugging Blaine along to the nearest bathroom.

He looks at Blaine through the mirror. "Now that was a spoiled moment. Although—a fair approximation of realistic expectations, don't you think?"

"I do. Did you think that growing up here has given me an idealistic view of parenthood?" Blaine asks with a smile, sliding his hands around Kurt's waist.

"No," Kurt answers, wiggling his hips inside of Blaine's hold. "I just find it amusing that we keep stumbling into these little setups for sweet child-related moments and then I end up getting kicked or thrown up on or bitten or shouted at or told that I have a funny looking nose by someone barely tall enough to see—or old enough to appreciate—my shirt buttons."

"They are very nice buttons."

Kurt laughs, turns in Blaine's arms, and says, "It's time for the adults to have fun. Join me?"

"With pleasure."

By the time that they get back to the room where the string instruments are playing, spirits are flowing, and the crowd is mostly couples, there isn't a child in sight.

Blaine doesn't take his hands off of Kurt the whole way there. Kurt's outfit had been revealing enough with two layers—down to just one, it's borderline inappropriate, and Blaine's interest is as obvious as the creamy, bare, thick lines of Kurt's biceps and shoulders.

They dance one dance together, but Kurt keeps some distance between them, even when Blaine tries to nudge their legs together or wind his arms completely around Kurt's back. When the song ends, Kurt winks at him and slips into the crowd, leaving him standing there. Before they settle in, they need to dance with others, and Blaine knows that—it's just fun to tease.

Kurt dances with Anna, Trent, and Blaine's father, and after each dance he knocks back a mug of alcoholic cider. It's delicious—apple-flavored and sharp and dry, and it feels good to let the buzzing hum that it brings take apart his joints and loosen his muscles.

He's skirting the edge of the dance floor when he finds Blaine in the crowd again, dancing with someone who he can tell has intimate knowledge of Blaine—the way that they're moving together and the way that the man's hands are resting on Blaine's waist leave no room for doubt.

Kurt has become proficient at reminding himself that Blaine has former lovers living in the house and on the compound who Kurt is going to be introduced to and sometimes have to work with, but if he's being honest, seeing them interact with Blaine never fails to make his gut twist.

He has to remind himself that jealousy and possessiveness are unbecoming in anyone, but most unpleasant in those who are in positions of power and influence. He is a co-leader. He can't afford the lapse of control that a display of claiming would require, and he knows that there is absolutely no call for such a thing in the first place; his and Blaine's commitment is something that he has never doubted, and Blaine is not his possession. 

Still, there is that ringing in his ears that screams _do not let them think_ —

What? That Blaine is available for seduction? That Kurt would stand by and do nothing while a former lover tested the waters on the off-chance that Blaine is an unsatisfied newlywed?

The whispers have been minimal, but they have reached his ears; that he is too young, too inexperienced to please Blaine, who is ten years his senior, who has had a dozen affairs, who is so much more worldly; how could someone like Kurt, a green village boy, be enough for him?

Kurt realizes that he's had too much to drink. He would never ride these trains of thought sober.

He waits for the feeling to lessen. At least, he tries—but there's another man after that, and another, and he can't ascertain Blaine's level of investment. He only knows that he wants to draw Blaine's attention, so he slides across the dance floor, not quite dancing, not quite walking, and drags the tips of his fingers along Blaine's arm to stop him in between partner swaps.

"There you are," Blaine says, and leans in to kiss him. He tastes the cider on Kurt's mouth, makes a noise, and kisses him again. "Mm, I see that you've found your entertainment."

"And you yours," Kurt says, looping one arm around Blaine's neck to draw him in closer.

"Did I linger too long with the others?" Blaine asks, somewhat obliviously.

Kurt shuffles hips-first into Blaine's space. "Never mind. Come off the floor with me."

The air smells like apples and spices and sweat. 

The lights around the room have been dimmed or turned off, leaving the band stand, the drink table, and the edges of the dance floor the only visible areas in the room. 

The corner that Kurt draws Blaine into is so dark that they would be hard-pressed to be identified, much less observed, and so he has no issue with dragging Blaine up into a heated kiss.

When they stop to breathe, Blaine's eyelids flutter lazily open. Kurt can feel him watching, feel his eyes rake down Kurt's body, over his flushed face and sweat-smeared makeup. He isn't surprised when Blaine leans up on his toes to kiss him again. 

When Kurt moves to deepen the kiss, Blaine stiffens.

"No one is watching us," Kurt says.

"They know who we are."

"They can't see what we're doing."

"What are we doing?" Blaine asks. Their lips are so close that when he speaks their mouths brush, and the feather-light contact sends shivers down Kurt's body.

"Blaine," Kurt says, sliding his fingers into Blaine's hair, "kiss me."

The song changes from something quick-paced to something slower and more guttural, and when Blaine finally presses their lips together again Kurt lets his tongue in. The lingering unease in Blaine's body gradually fades, kiss by kiss. 

Kurt twists his fingers in Blaine's hair as they trade control of the kiss, until Blaine is inching them back into the corner where the two walls behind them meet. Kurt savors being pressed into the unforgiving surface and slides his hands down, scraping his fingernails along Blaine's neck and collarbone, and then down the front of the vest that he's wearing. Kurt searches beneath the cloth and finds the body heat that's trapped between it and the tunic below it. Blaine's nipples harden under his hands, and he moans against Kurt's mouth when Kurt's hands travel the length of his torso, circle his waist, and wrap around the globes of his ass to haul him closer.

Kurt is still far too drunk, and he knows that they shouldn't, not here, not now, and not with their friends and family across the room, but he can't bring himself to stop.

"Want you," he says, when he feels Blaine's erection digging into his thigh. "Want you right now."

"That's vague," Blaine says, panting against his throat.

Kurt lets his head fall back, and feels Blaine's hand cradle the left side of his neck while he kisses the right with urgent nips that make Kurt's common sense dissolve. That's his spot—they both know that—and he can't so much as form a sentence when Blaine kisses him there.

"Oh," he moans.

"You're so naughty today," Blaine whispers, biting his earlobe. 

"You love it when I'm naughty."

"I do," Blaine replies, using the hold that he has on Kurt's neck to tip him even farther into the corner that they're occupying. He pauses, and then kisses Kurt's Adam's apple before climbing the other side of his throat. "If we were alone, I'd already be on my knees." 

Kurt whines and rolls his hips forward. He puts his fingers on Blaine's hips and, when he doesn't receive any negative signals, cups Blaine's cock through his pants. "Let me—"

"H-here?" Blaine asks, twitching against the heel of Kurt's palm. "They'll know. They'll see."

"You're so hard," Kurt says, sucking Blaine's earlobe into his mouth before biting it, then releasing it and setting his lips to the sensitive spot behind Blaine's ear. He undoes the top button on Blaine's pants, hears Blaine gasp, and then undoes another, and another, until Blaine's cock is surging up against his fingers. "There you are. Mm, let me feel this gorgeous thing in my hand."

"Oh my god."

Feeling a wicked thrill, Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine's cock and strokes it, easing the foreskin back. "I want to make you come," he breathes in Blaine's ear, "and then I want you to take me upstairs and make me scream. I want everyone to hear how well you pleasure me. I want—I want them to _know_ —"

"Sweetheart, god, just, please, f-faster." Kurt feels Blaine hold himself still, so that what they're doing isn't quite so obvious from the back, but this only makes the erratic pump of Kurt's fist all the more exciting, hidden in that dark space between their bodies.

"That's it," he says, dragging his thumb over the damp, swollen head at the end of every stroke. "When you're weak-kneed and shaking from coming in my hand in front of all of these people, I'm going to let you ride my cock, let you milk every drop out of me."

"Kurt," Blaine moans, trembling with the effort to not thrust, to not move more noticeably, "honey, please, please, I'm so close."

"Say you want to," Kurt says, easing his aching wrist by switching angles. "Say it."

"Want to," Blaine gasps, "want you inside of me, want to make it so good for you, god, please." He falls forward, one of his hands smacking flat against the wall behind Kurt's shoulder as his orgasm coils. "Want you to make me yours, want everyone to know that I'm yours, oh, oh, god, Kurt, yes, yes—" He comes all over Kurt's hand, his hips twitching in place.

From there, everything grows a bit disconnected. Kurt doesn't remember the trek upstairs. He only knows that the door closes behind them, that Blaine barely has Kurt's pants open before he's falling onto the couch, that the pot of lubricating lotion is on its side on the floor by their feet.

He sees red, drags Blaine's pants down and off, and hears himself say, "Turn around. I want to watch you sit down onto me."

Blaine's fingers are smeared with lotion and his ass is hanging over the waistband of his underpants. Kurt doesn't expect him to take that request to mean _this very instant_ , but apparently Blaine does—he holds Kurt's cock upright and lowers himself onto it with minimal fuss, his ass pooling in Kurt's lap as he shakes and groans from the strain.

"Oh my god," Kurt hisses, holding Blaine's waist and reeling. It's so much at once.

And then Blaine begins rising and falling around him, and he wraps his arms around Blaine's little waist and holds on, feeling the flex of his thighs and torso as he moves. He takes Blaine's arms, crosses them at the wrist and holds them at the small of his back.

"Like this," he breathes hotly against Blaine's ear, feeling Blaine's pulse slam against the inside of his wrists. "Come on. Get it where you need it, sweetheart."

Blaine sobs, bouncing faster, angling his pelvis back just so.

Another haze—Kurt knows that he pushes Blaine onto his hands and knees on the floor once, then makes him kneel facing the back of the couch, and then makes him straddle his waist, only to end up yet again in the position that they'd started in, with Blaine on his lap facing away.

"Yours," Blaine cries out as he moves, sweat glistening on his skin, "make me yours, make me yours, come on, come in me, come on." He turns, wraps an arm around Kurt's neck, and kisses his jaw. "Love watching your cock move inside of me, don't you? Love watching my ass around you, know you do, love watching me take it." Kurt whines against his cheek and thrusts up faster. He lowers his voice, and drags Kurt's arms around his body. "P-please, please."

Kurt can tell that he's tapping out, his thighs going soft and his toes curling into the carpet, so he hoists Blaine like a rag doll one last time, and presses him belly-first into the couch cushions, kneels between his legs, and begins rutting into him as he sprawls limply.

"Oh god, yes," he moans, as Kurt fists the hair at the back of his head and presses his face and shoulders down into the couch. He lifts his ass a little, just enough to give Kurt something to bounce off of, his arms above his head, his body flushed, corded up and so close.

Kurt loses it spectacularly somewhere around that point, his fingers digging marks into Blaine's thick hips, filling him up with what feels like weeks of pent-up release. He pulls out slowly when he begins to shrink, watches Blaine's ass gape and leak his come, watches Blaine's hole try to close up and fail, and brings his thumb up to stroke the twitching, swollen flesh, his hands closing around the fat globes of Blaine's ass to spread them.

It's the last thing that he remembers doing.

The next morning, they wake up on the couch in their public antechamber with spectacular hangovers and a smashed pot of lubricating lotion on the floor beside them. 

They stumble through showers and the consumption of a scalding hot pot of coffee.

It's worse when they find Trent in the room, his eyebrows up to his hairline, staring at the mess. The room is wrecked—the couch is half-empty of cushions, which are scattered everywhere, the lubricating lotion is a puddle across the floor, their clothes from the previous night are draped over the furniture, and there are dark stains all over more or less everything. 

And Blaine is limping.

"Well," Trent says, his face scrunched up, "and what a lovely morning it is."

Kurt flushes dark, and then shrugs farther into his dressing gown. He can't help but look a little smug—he's sure that the entire province had heard Blaine last night, loudly and clearly.

The second day of the festival is more low key. 

Kurt and Blaine wander at a leisurely pace, chatting and visiting with everyone who has a table set up. They eat lightly and avoid spirits like the plague, and despite eye rolls and knowing smirks from more or less everyone they know, they don't dwell on the previous day's events.

They're minding a flock of children when Blaine says, "I didn't mean to make you jealous last night. You do know that, right?"

"Of course I know that," Kurt says. "I'd had a lot to drink. I'm sorry if I was too much."

"No, I just—wanted to be clear about that."

Kurt smiles at his husband over the heads of their miniature audience. "I love you. Grab me a box of paints?"

Later on in the day, Kurt takes a stroll through the house gardens with Anita. 

He isn't surprised when she begins their conversation by pointing out how good he is with the children of the house, nor is he surprised when she continues along that vein to make her point.

"We're in for a long, cold Winter."

"So I've heard." When she returns his generic response with a knowing look, he groans. "I thought it would be Jon who pounced first."

She laughs, throwing her head back. "Kurt. You needn't be embarrassed. Though I will say that I'm quite sure even the village heard my son screaming last night—"

"Oh, my god, please, no, no, I am very—I am sorry, I am so sorry, if we could just not discuss this I will be so very grateful."

She elbows him. "If you're bold enough to do it, be bold enough to own up to it in the light of day."

Face burning, he squints at her, defeated. "Ugh, very well, I see your point."

"What I meant to imply with that," she says, stroking his arm to calm him, "is that you two have proven that your chemistry is in the right place. Where do you stand on trying to start a family?"

"Have you discussed this with Blaine?"

"No, but I intend to. I just managed to get you alone first."

They're in between gardens. Kurt is quite until they reach his, which is two past hers. She stops in the center of it, smiles, and then sits on the stone bench beside his reflecting pool.

"It's beautiful. It's very—you," she says. 

He smiles, and nods his thanks. And then he decides to answer her question.

"I'm ready," he says, reaching down to trail his fingertips across the pool's surface. "I never knew what that would feel like. 'Ready'. What does that even mean? Am I ready to grow another person inside of me? Am I ready to put that person ahead of everything and everyone else in my life? Am I ready for the joys and the disappointments? Am I ready for the risks and the pain? Am I ready for what it will do to my relationship with Blaine?" He sighs. "I don't know. But I choose to try to be, because I want it. And so—I'm ready. As ready as I'll ever be." He turns toward her. "There is never going to be a moment when I feel fully prepared, and I'm through waiting for it. I have so many other hopes and dreams. I don't think that wanting to be a parent will ever be the single thing that defines me, but—it can be one among many of the things that do. Most of all, I'm comfortable with _choosing_ to be ready. I like being in control of my path."

She smiles, tilting her head. "You're braver than I was."

"It has everything to do with Blaine, of course. Don't give me all of the credit. I want to be a parent with him. I want his children to be my children. I've only come this far because he is who he is." He sighs. "And he knows all of this. We've spoken of it many times."

"Do you think that he's still afraid?"

"I don't think it's fear anymore. It's just—the deep breath before the plunge. He's right there. We're right there."

"The season will be long, as I said," she replies. "Preparations are ahead of schedule. You both have very well-trained seconds, and I insist that you allow them to do their jobs. It's their time to shine, to prove their ingenuity and perseverance. You two will have more free time and privacy in the dead of Winter than you've ever had before. I say—take advantage of it."

"When he feels the same," Kurt says, setting his shoulders. "When he feels the same."

She nods, barely perceptibly.

 

*

 

Blaine is with David in the nursery when Kurt arrives at their rooms.

"I'm not interrupting?" he asks, hovering in the doorway in his work clothes, his hair a flawless coif interrupted only by the one spot at the back where he constantly worries it during the day. 

Seeing it makes Blaine smile. "No, of course not," he says. "We were just finishing up."

David smiles, nods, and quietly exits. 

When he's gone, Kurt asks, "Finishing up what?"

Blaine is sitting on the floor, a mug of tea and a half-finished apple tart on a plate beside his knee.

"I wandered in here after my bath," he says. "Sat down and just—thought. For a while. David needed my approval on a few things, and when we were done with that we started talking. I had some ideas—for the furniture, for the paint." He smiles. "David is a good listener."

Kurt tilts his head, and raises an eyebrow.

He holds out his hand. "Sit with me?" When Kurt does, folding his legs beneath him, Blaine laces their hands and rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "I am so very sick of apples." He looks down at the abandoned tart on his plate, and Kurt laughs.

"So I see." Kurt scoops it up and begins chewing on it. "I'll take this one for the team."

Blaine grins. "Noble."

"Actually, I didn't have a single apple dish the whole festival. I might as well, now that it's over." He cleans his fingers after he finishes, and steals a swallow of cool tea. "So. Ideas, huh?"

"Preliminary only. I would never take it any farther than that without consulting you first."

Kurt nods. Blaine feels his cheeks heat up. He's not nervous about having this conversation, exactly, but he feels as if they've taken separate paths to arrive at the same destination. Now that he's finally arrived, he's worried that he's going to fail to get his point across convincingly.

"David told me that my mother spoke to you about trying to get pregnant," he says. Kurt immediately tenses up. "No, wait, let me finish. He didn't give me details. And she hasn't come to me yet, so this has nothing to do with her pitch, which I am sure was dazzling and scandalous."

"Okay, that part, yes," Kurt says, his lips quirking.

"Kurt, I've known what I wanted out of a life with you since the moment that I laid eyes on you," he says, taking Kurt's other hand and drawing them both into his lap. "I don't need to be convinced or nudged along. I don't need you to guide me away from my fears. I just—needed time."

Kurt's smiling that soft _oh-god-Blaine-you're-babbling_ smile that Blaine knows so well. "I'm glad."

"I'm ready," Blaine says, staring into his eyes. "I want to start a family with you."

Kurt's eyes mist over. Blaine watches his jaw tick, watches his shoulders lift, and feels his palms go damp. "Can I ask what helped you make this decision?"

"Settling with you, here in the house. Sharing my days with you. Walking past this empty nursery every day and thinking, 'what if', and then thinking, 'I don't want it to be empty anymore'." He smiles, tilting his head. "There was no single avalanche of self-discovery, I'm sorry."

An overwhelmed laugh bursts from Kurt's lips. He ducks his face, and then takes a deep breath. His hands go tight around Blaine's. "Okay," he says, nodding again, his eyes darting from Blaine's eyes to Blaine's face to Blaine's shoulders and back again. "Okay."

Blaine laughs. His heart skips a beat and then begins to race. "Okay?"

Kurt repeats, breathlessly, "Okay," and Blaine laughs again, dragging Kurt into an enthusiastic kiss as Kurt just keeps repeating "okay" against his mouth.

It's been quite a journey to reach this point, but Blaine is happy and relieved—it feels good, as if the time has come, as if they both finally want the same thing for the right reasons.

"Okay," he says, one last time, cupping Kurt's face in his hands.

 

*

 

Kurt has one last check-up, and Doctor Mereen gives him the all clear. With nothing standing in between them and trying but time and patience and hope, Kurt grows excited.

As the weeks pass, he begins to think it's for the best that they've decided to keep the decision to themselves. Telling no one, not even Anna or Trent, turns it into something that's just theirs. It's intimate and at times even flirtatious, making them both smile and roll their eyes fondly at each other every time that they see each other with children, or that one time when Kurt had stuffed a pillow under his tunic to jokingly bemoan the impending loss of his figure.

There's a last-minute rush before the compound goes into hibernation for the season, and they hardly see each other for two weeks straight. Kurt doesn't mind so much—he has a lot on his mind and work keeps him busy, and gives him a chance to sort through his thoughts.

He is asked at the very last minute to make a trip to Lima to deliver some supplies that have just arrived, and he jumps at the chance to see his family. It's a quick journey, and before he can even unwrap himself from his outerwear Carole is shoving hot soup and steaming tea under his nose. He manages to hug and kiss her before decimating the meal. Finn is with his wife-to-be Lori and her family, but Burt is only on business and arrives home a few hours later.

"Co-leaders delivering supplies themselves as a standard now? Knew you'd class up that joint," Burt says, hugging him.

He laughs, delighted. He has missed his dad so much.

"You'll stop teasing me when you see a crate of that deer jerky you love so much in the back of my transport," Kurt says.

Burt winks, and slaps him on the shoulder. "In that case, you can stay."

Carole swats Burt playfully, kisses him, and then leaves them to catch up.

"It's good to see you, son," Burt says, smiling in that way Kurt knows so well, as if he's trying to play down just how excited he is.

"It's good to see you, too, Dad." He leans his arms on the table and looks around, soaking in the feeling of home that is—not quite what home is to him now, but the memory of home nonetheless.

Burt talks about Finn's intention to take over more of the business. Kurt tells Burt about the Winter preparation schedule. They talk about the early cold. When there's nothing formal left to ramble on about, Burt relocates them to the living room.

"You wouldn't normally make this trip yourself."

"It was an excuse to come and see you all," Kurt admits.

"I'm not complaining. Just curious." 

His dad knows him too well.

He waits, takes a breath, and then says, "I've decided to try to get pregnant."

There's a long silence. His dad's face is frozen, and then it begins to crack. He can almost see his dad cycle through several possible replies before choosing one.

"That's—a big step."

Kurt nods, drumming his fingers on the warm mug that he's holding. "We've talked about it so many times that we ran out of things to say."

"Six months in," Burt observes. "Seems kind of fast."

"We aren't in a common situation, Dad. If we were, we'd wait."

"But you're not." 

It sounds like polite resignation, and Kurt feels some of the tension in his chest unravel.

"That wasn't the deciding factor," he says, carefully, "but it's the reality behind everything that we do. We don't get to pick and choose where our responsibilities end and our personal lives begin. It's just—a balance, between what we have to do and what we want to do."

"I have to confess, I care more about the 'what you want' part. I'm your father, Kurt."

"I know. But I've been ready for a while, and now Blaine is, too. We want to start a family."

"That's more like it," Burt says, twisting his mug in circles, his eyes misted over. "That's—well, I guess you're all checked out and ready to go, the—the organ, yeah?"

Kurt nods, and instinctively puts a hand on his side. "Raring to go, apparently, and one of the more advanced models. Best scenario that we could have hoped for."

Burt swallows thickly, nodding. He sighs, laughs, and then shakes his head. "No matter how well you prepare yourself for this conversation with your kids, you're never really ready for it."

Kurt smiles. "It's a good thing that I didn't need you for the 'birds and the bees' talk."

"It killed me not to teach you about all that stuff. You know that, right?"

"I know," he replies. "It's okay, Dad."

Burt clears his throat, and then ventures, "He's—it's good? You're treating each other right, respecting each other, it's—that spark is there, he makes you feel special?"

Cheeks burning, Kurt answers, "Yes."

"I'm real happy for you," Burt says, his eyes wet. "Real happy. That's all I ever wanted for you, all we ever wanted—that he make you happy, that you—work, together."

Kurt swallows, thinking of his mom. Going home always brings her so close to the surface. "Is it alright if I stay overnight? We could have breakfast tomorrow, maybe visit the village?"

Burt nods eagerly. "Whatever you wanna do is alright by me."

The next day, Kurt is pleased to see how well the village is doing. 

There is new construction everywhere, as well as a fresh shine to the older buildings and tech. There are many young children, which is always a good sign, and the hospital is practically empty for this time of year. The gravel is new and the roads are clear and everyone seems happy to see him. He doesn't engage overly much, but he does pay an informal visit to the governor, who asks politely after his family's health (and she doesn't mean the Hummels).

Finn comes home for supper, and they take a walk around the property together, just the two of them. It's quiet and lovely and cold in the forest, and they talk about their parents.

Before going back to the house Finn hugs him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his back, and says, "You're doing good, Kurt. Thanks."

Tears well up in Kurt's eyes; it's so good to hear Finn say that.

When he's getting ready to leave, Carole takes his arm beside the transport and says, "If you need to talk to someone about the pregnancy stuff, I'm here. I know it's not the same, but—"

He smiles and hugs her. "Thanks, Carole. I'm sure I will."

"We're so proud, honey, just—so proud," she says, hugging him back tightly.

His dad hugs him. "Good luck, Kurt. And be safe, all of you."

The warmth of his family's affection keeps the cold at bay all the way home.


	16. Chapter 16

When Kurt returns home, he's told that Blaine isn't expected to return for at least a week.

He isn't pleased to hear this news. They've spent too much time apart this month as it is, and he had wanted more than anything, especially bearing the news of how well his talk with his dad had gone, to crawl into bed with Blaine and enjoy some free time.

He's especially anxious at night, alone in their bed—which now feels enormous when it isn't shared—with his thoughts buzzing a hundred miles an hour, tallying and re-tallying everything that he had done that day and everything that he needs to do tomorrow. 

Blaine is the counterbalance to everything jittery inside of his head. Blaine's presence allows him the space that he needs to be himself, to relax and smile and laugh and be touched and feel loved and wanted, to be reminded that he's a person as well as a leader.

Without him, Kurt feels lonely and disconnected.

Three days into this unexpected and unbearable separation, Kurt nearly jumps out of bed in surprise when he rolls over into a warm body.

"When did you get in?" he asks, squeaking.

Blaine flings one arm over his waist. "Couple of hours ago. Rode all night. Please tell me that you have nothing scheduled for today."

"Strategy dinner," Kurt replies, unable to stop smiling, and feeling as if his body is literally vibrating—he is so happy that Blaine is home early.

"Cancel it?"

It's a meeting with Anna, but she'll forgive him if he reschedules early. He's never forgotten Blaine's request that he do a better job of balancing their lives and his work obligations, and he can't remember the last time that he'd canceled something to spend time with Blaine.

"Of course," he replies, sliding one leg over Blaine's hip and tugging him close and, it seems, into sleep. He's a dead weight within moments, Kurt's breath warm against the crown of his head.

It's the best sleep Kurt has had since the last time that they were together.

When he wakes up again it's late morning, and he's disoriented. He's slept too long. Blaine sits up beside him, yawns, and groans as he twists his back and neck, which pop softly.

He smiles, watching Blaine slide out of bed and flex the rest of his limbs. Blaine is wearing a knee-length tunic that Kurt is sure had been the under tunic of the outfit that he'd rode in wearing last night. He smells like the outdoors and, if Kurt's being honest, a little bit like horse.

"Take a bath with me?" Blaine asks, bracing his hands on the farthest bedpost. 

The morning sunlight is striped across his body and, when Kurt hesitates to answer, he casually takes the hem of his tunic in his hands and pulls it up and over his head, revealing—that he's completely naked underneath, still olive-toned even in Winter and, from being on the road without access to or the time for his usual grooming rituals, thickly hairy in places that he usually is not. His chest is a scattered thatch of curls, and his cock is framed by a thick set of them, a pattern that continues down his thighs and over his round, protruding ass. His wiry, muscled body flexes in all the right places as he tosses the tunic away.

Kurt's mouth goes wet at the sight, and his cheeks pink. Desire floods his veins and sparks down his body in response to Blaine's effortless grace and the sprawl of his trim anatomy.

By the time that he stands to follow Blaine into the bathroom, he's half-hard and flushed to his collarbone, and filling the tub and gathering the oils and soaps takes every bit of his free attention span. There isn't much to work with.

Blaine climbs into the cloudy water first, stepping over the copper lip of the tub. Kurt waits until the water stills to join him, then settles between his legs and sits, putting his back against Blaine's chest. Blaine's fingers are hungry for him but they're gentle, stroking over his belly and thighs as if wanting to say hello after their separation.

"Everything get done?" Kurt asks, basking in the perfumed steam of the bath, in the noise of the water echoing off of the high ceiling, and in the snug press of Blaine's body against his own.

"Barely," Blaine says, against his scalp. "The governor of Meston has been stock-piling his micro-harvest yields. His neighbor was all too eager to rat him out, and that combined with several last-minute requests kept me bouncing around the villages in that area for days."

"Kevin? I wouldn't have expected that from him."

"It was an unpleasant surprise. I had the surplus locked in preservation boxes and hired a trailer driver to bring it back behind me, and Kevin has his summons to come to the manor after the thaw to be read his penalty." Blaine sighs. "No more business talk, please? I am worn out."

Kurt slumps low in the bath water, resting his head on Blaine's collarbone. They stay that way for a while, dozing, and then he sits up to fiddle with the heat setting on the tub, kneeling up in the water. He turns when he's done, soap and a cloth in hand.

"Turn around? Let me wash your back."

He works up a good lather and takes his time, scraping road grime from the nape of Blaine's neck to the last knob of his spine. He rinses off the soap with handfuls of water, then turns Blaine around and repeats the process on his front, scrubbing at the dips and lines of his chest and belly and shoulders at a slower pace. He bypasses the erection swelling on Blaine's thigh, and washes his legs and feet (until it tickles too much) and in between his legs. He swaps the soap for hair wash and digs his fingers deep into Blaine's thick hair, scrubbing his scalp and behind his ears and along his hairline until his curls are squeaking. When he's finished he drains the tub, refills it with clean water, and draws Blaine into his lap. Blaine, breathing a little faster, kisses Kurt wet and open-mouthed, and wraps his legs around Kurt's waist. 

"You missed a spot," he says, putting a fresh cloth into Kurt's hand, and then dragging Kurt's fingers down the curve of his ass.

"Oh, did I?" Kurt asks, gently working the cloth between Blaine's cheeks. "I'll have to be very thorough, then."

Blaine spreads his knees, and Kurt holds him close and cleans him there, feeling him breathe heavier with every pass. There's enough soap to allow him to wiggle half of a cloth-covered finger inside and he does, forcing a whimper from Blaine's throat.

"I can barely do the job," he drawls, placing kisses along Blaine's neck, "you're so tight."

Blaine rocks against his finger, clinging to his wet shoulders. "Please—please, Kurt."

Heart slamming against his chest, Kurt curls his free hand around Blaine's ass and grinds their cocks together. Under the soapy water that accomplishes next to nothing, and Blaine impatiently reaches behind Kurt for the little vial of oil that's sitting among the lumps of soap and bottles.

"Want you," he moans, his fingers trembling. "Need you inside of me, been too long."

Kurt turns them in the water, and lets Blaine's knees find the step that sits at the end of the tub. It's just the right height for him to kneel on it and have his ass out of the water, and for Kurt to crouch behind him. Breathing heavily, he takes the oil, smears a messy line of drops along his cock and against his fingers and then down Blaine's crack.

"Kurt, please," Blaine whimpers, and—god, the sight of that darkly-furred, gorgeously apple-round ass dripping with water and oil and spreading for him, revealing its dusky center, is almost enough to make Kurt's cock jump in mid-air.

"Give me a second, just let me," Kurt says, holding himself steady and rubbing the head of his cock in circles against Blaine's pucker—it's warm and grasping at him and feels so good, but he waits for it to soften and wink open before he presses forward, his thumbs holding Blaine's cheeks apart, watching as the thick shaft of his cock slides into Blaine's ass. Blaine's hole darkens and stretches and strains to let Kurt in, his spine rigid, his head tilted back.

"Oh, god, yes," Blaine moans, as he backs up onto Kurt's cock. "Go slow. Want to feel it."

The oil is messier and less sure than the lotion that they usually use, so Kurt has to go slower—and it feels incredible, Blaine's tight, warm body opening up for him, and without extended preparation the yield is slower, making a veritable fist around Kurt's cock. Panting, water sloshing around their knees, Kurt inches in to the root, and then out to the head, and then back in again, as Blaine whimpers and clutches the edge of the tub.

Kurt smooths his hands over Blaine's ass, pushing the round cheeks up and down and apart around his cock, staring at where they bleed into Blaine's back, his back into his shoulders, and his shoulders into his thick neck and wild hair, as a winding tension snakes in between his legs. It's been at least five weeks since he's had the pleasure of Blaine's ass churning circles under his palms, working himself back onto Kurt's cock with his mouth open and his throat full of pleas.

His fingernails dig into Blaine's cheeks as he pistons wetly between them. "Going to come," he grits out, and feels Blaine whimper and tighten around him.

He almost slips, it's that intense, and he finds himself putting most of his weight on Blaine when he comes, plastered over Blaine's ass and back, grinding deep and fast. He strokes Blaine's damp back as he comes down from the whiplash-buzz of the orgasm, his eyelids fluttering. They slip back into the water, and below its surface Kurt's fingers stroke Blaine's pucker, linger there to feel the slippery mix of come and bath water and oils as Blaine pushes out.

Kurt hums, stroking in between his cheeks. "Messy." He doesn't mind that so much in the bath.

"Love you," Blaine says, writhing back against him.

They wash off a second time. Blaine fetches them towels and they lounge in bed as they dry off, their legs flung out and their fingers on each other's skin, laughing and talking.

Lunch has been set out in their public antechamber. 

They sit at the table in their robes and eat at a leisurely pace, Blaine moaning at the taste of eggs and fruit and bread after weeks of camp food.

They spend most of the afternoon enjoying being childishly naked in their rooms, Kurt switching between paperwork and his work table and Blaine usually at the piano. By the time that dinner rolls around they're ravenous and eat heartily, and then take turns in the bathroom again.

Before he surrenders the room to Blaine, though, Kurt puts a hand on his naked hip and murmurs against his ear, "Don't get rid of all of it?"

Blaine blushes, smiles with one corner of his mouth in that way that makes Kurt's skin hot. "My hair? You like me hairy?"

"Maybe a little hairy," Kurt replies, kissing Blaine's neck, and then walking away before Blaine can ask him to clarify.

He sprawls on the bed while Blaine finishes whatever private grooming that he wishes to complete, rubbing the skin between his navel and cock with lazy intent. Arousal that has hummed all day since their very satisfactory bath together crackles to greater life, sending a flush down his body. He doesn't touch his cock, bypasses it entirely to roll and squeeze his balls in his hand, then bends one leg so that he can rub his fingers down between his cheeks. He sighs out, arches his back and hitches his pelvis and rubs his hole where it's puckered and soft and warm, until it begins to feel better than good.

He intends to stop and wait for Blaine to go farther, but the pot of lotion on their bedside table is so conveniently placed, and the thick, creamy stuff is wonderfully cool on his fingers. When he smears it across his hole he flinches at the temperature and then relaxes as it warms, rubbing it in with slow, careful circles. He shoves a pillow under his neck and gets comfortable, spreading out and relaxing his wrist and stroking himself open just the way that he likes.

When he still hears the plumbing going, he lifts himself a little, repositions his fingers and pushes, sliding one in. The intrusion sends warm rushes of sensation up deep inside. He withdraws, and then pushes in again, excited by the soft squelch of the lotion. He pushes a second finger in, braces his knuckles against his rim and begins pumping the two digits in and out.

"God," he moans, twisting his right nipple in his free hand as he writhes down around his fingers. 

It feels so good. 

He lifts his leg higher so that he can get his fingers deeper. The lotion slides down his crack and pools on the towel beneath him. Normally he prefers it drier, but he's so empty and clean and relaxed that too much moisture feels good right now. 

It feels so good, in fact, that he isn't paying attention to anything else, and doesn't notice when Blaine walks into the room wearing nothing but a towel.

Finally, Blaine interrupts, his voice rough, "Someone's started without me."

Kurt has one hand beneath himself now, angled against his cheek with his fingers plunging upward, and his legs spread wide. He whimpers, and pulls his fingers out to stroke his puffy, stretched rim instead.

"Like what you see?" he asks, holding himself open.

Judging by the tent that Blaine's towel is making, Kurt is fairly sure that he does; he asks only for the playful grin that Blaine gives him in response. He glances down at the erection straining against Blaine's towel. He licks his lips, tilts his head, and works his fingers in and out of himself.

"Take off the towel," he says.

Blaine draws it out, unwrapping himself like a gift. Kurt drowns in the sight of him, pronounced pelvic muscles and thick, corded thighs and his cock heavy and full and flushed dark, his whole body freckled with water droplets. Blaine moves to touch himself, but then stops.

"Mm, no, do it. Touch yourself for me," Kurt encourages, his eyes drifting low as Blaine wraps his thick cock in his hand and strokes it out, tugging at the foreskin before rolling it back.

When he's fully hard, he kneels on the bed and walks himself up in between Kurt's legs.

"Can I try something?" he asks, putting a hand on Kurt's knee.

"Of course."

Blaine grips Kurt's cock in his free hand, kneeling closer. "This is kind of silly, but fun. When I was about fourteen it was all the rage among the boys on the compound. We've never done it, so..."

Kurt wonders what in the world they've managed to miss.

Blaine begins rubbing their cock heads together. Kurt is only a little swollen, so he's not sure how well that is going to go, but then Blaine sort of lines them up, and rolls the still-malleable sheath of Kurt's foreskin up and over the tip of his own cock.

"Oh," Kurt breathes.

Blaine forces his retracted foreskin up as well, wrapping it around the tip of Kurt's cock, which is rapidly filling at the sight of them locked together. It's hot and silky inside the layers of delicate skin, and Kurt's hips jolt. Blaine pinches below their heads and begins gently thrusting, pushing their cocks back and forth inside of the blazing warm cocoon. It's soft inside but also catching smartly, too—it feels like a hand around him, only much smoother.

"God, that looks incredible," Blaine moans. His cock is thicker, so it's almost stretching Kurt's foreskin, and that feels indescribably good.

Kurt whines, feels a smear of moisture leak from their slits to mingle and make everything a little damp. "I—c-can I come like this?"

"Mm," Blaine hums, rocking their cocks together as their foreskin slides around them. "You want to? Want to come inside there, get me wet?"

"Oh, yes."

"Squeeze my cock after and make it drip out, so wet that I could just roll you over onto your belly and push inside of you, use your come instead of lotion to make you slick."

" _Blaine_ —"

It's strange, watching his own longer, paler cock bleed into Blaine's thicker, darker one, a single length of flesh that, taken on its own, would probably look silly, but with their cocks hard and sliding becomes something else entirely. The tip of his cock is sensitive from rubbing so constantly against Blaine's; the moisture that they're producing isn't enough to take the edge off.

"It's like being inside of each other at the same time, oh my god, that is so—god, I'm close—"

"Don't stop," Blaine says, his fist moving around them. "Want to feel your come under my skin."

Kurt cries out when he comes, staring down at his cock pulsing its release, and the wetness just—spreads, everywhere, under their foreskin, between the layers, down the shaft of their cocks, making such a mess, and his throbbing cock slides through it, back and forth, so wet, so much.

"God," he whines, shuddering as Blaine rubs their shafts back and forth until they're too sensitive to continue. He pulls away, carefully tucking their foreskins back. Kurt bites his lip. His cock aches at the sight, wells cloudy white at the tip.

Panting, Blaine fists himself, smearing the come into his skin. He takes Kurt off-guard when he bends down and sucks Kurt's softening cock into his mouth, just to clean him off.

"Oh, oh, oh," Kurt chants, his fingers in Blaine's hair.

Blaine pulls off, licking the corner of his mouth. He's flushed, and his eyes so golden that they're almost yellow. "Are we still agreed on—trying?" Kurt bites his lip, nodding, as Blaine stares at his naked body and then groans and leans in to kiss him. "Every night that I spent in those drafty, cold cabins without you, all I could think about was coming home to this, to your—mouth and your body and your smile and the way that you laugh. I could hardly stop thinking about you. About what we agreed to before I left, but never got the chance to do."

Kurt tears their mouths apart so that he can breathe, and digs his fingers into Blaine's hair. "Let's do it," he whispers, staring into Blaine's eyes. "We've waited so long."

This isn't a heat, and it isn't only about getting pregnant. It's completion, and Kurt needs it.

He's had more than enough preparation. Between fingering himself and having a spectacular orgasm, he's practically chomping at the bit, and when Blaine holds his legs up and presses against him he slides inside easily, a gasp on his lips as Kurt's body lets him in.

"S-slow, please," Kurt whimpers, locking his ankles around Blaine's back. "Feels so good already, and I'm sensitive, just—want to feel every inch of you."

They grind more than they thrust, Blaine's mouth scattering kisses over his legs and the inside of his thighs and, when he manages to bend for moments at a time, against Kurt's chest and shoulders and lips, dragging strong, loving fingers through Kurt's hair, smoothing it off of his face and murmuring endearments against his jaw.

It's less a climb and more of a roam over hills of physical sensation, winding tension one moment and loose, sprawling pleasure the next, and without his cock going hard it's nothing but friction and glide, Blaine's cock inside of him, perfect and hard and shining wetly as it slots inside and slips out of him, over and over again, turning him out loose and desperate.

Toward the end, Kurt rolls them over onto their sides to give Blaine's legs a break, hoists the leg that he has flung around Blaine higher, and relishes the noise that Blaine makes when he pushes back inside. Kurt kisses him, rakes a hand through his hair and cups the back of his neck, nudging their foreheads together.

"Close?" he asks, rolling his hips to make it easier.

"Y-yes," Blaine replies, exhaling shakily, his hands braced on Kurt's lower back, slipping in the light sheen of sweat there. 

Kurt shivers, loving the feeling of being held so close, wound around Blaine so completely. He puts his face in the curve of Blaine's neck and closes his eyes, and it's like being rocked, only he's so perfectly full, and something inside of his chest cracks. He feels tears well at the corners of his eyes, and a hitch in his throat. He wraps his arms around Blaine's shoulders, holds on and pants in time with Blaine's ragged breathing, and when he feels Blaine's hips begin to slam against his ass unevenly, he reaches down and wraps his fingers around one cheek to pull him in.

It's too much. It's all too much—he feels like he's drowning under the intensity of the union.

"That's it," he breathes, tears on his cheeks as he kisses down Blaine's neck. "Come inside of me, sweetheart. Deep as you can, okay?" He shakes. "I love you. I love you so much, please—please give it to me."

"Oh my god, Kurt, wanted this for so long, want to—"

"Every drop, come on, fill me up." He digs his fingers into Blaine's ass and holds on, feeling it jiggle as it moves. He even allows his fingers to slip in between Blaine's cheeks, to press against the knot of Blaine's hole as he thrusts. Blaine gasps, jerks, and twitches against his fingertips.

"God, _god_ —"

He lowers his voice to a rasp against Blaine's ear as his body shakes with Blaine's thrusts. "Give me a belly, love. Give me a b-baby—want everyone to know that you put it there, want to be so full with it—big and round and hard and all yours, honey, come on, put it in me. So hungry for it—my body wants it so badly, come on. Going to soak it up so well."

"Kurt," Blaine sobs.

Kurt feels the base of his cock contract and pulse. 

"Oh," he moans, clamping up tightly. "Oh, god, yes, all of it, get it—get it inside, oh, Blaine—"

Kurt, shaking harder than he had expected to be, tightens his arms and legs around Blaine, unwilling to move. There are tears on his face, and he buries it against Blaine's neck, feeling vulnerable. Blaine is shaking just as hard as he is. He feels different, and isn't sure why.

Finally, when they can breathe again, Blaine blurts, "Y-you should, um, roll onto your belly. So none of it—leaks out when I—"

This requires sitting up together and shifting around quite a bit and finally, when Kurt is sure that his muscles are done with him, he tips over onto his stomach and Blaine's cock slides out of him.

Blaine's voice is wrecked when he rasps out, "Tighten up for me. That's it, just—" He can feel the pad of Blaine's thumb press against his hole, circle it to make sure that it's not leaking. "God, you—look so amazing, feel so—Kurt, I just—need a second." Kurt takes his hand, tugs him down beside him and smiles a wobbly smile from his pillow.

"Hey, shh. It's okay. We're okay, right?"

Blaine nods, lips bitten shut, and kisses him, but the tears spill over his cheeks anyway, and Kurt brushes them away. 

 

*

 

The heats begin happening again, and in a much more unforgiving manner than before. 

Neither Kurt nor Blaine nor the doctors are surprised, but that doesn't make it any easier for Kurt, who is sensitive to being compromised; he can't help but dislike them. 

Of course, when they're happening, he's only concerned with one thing.

It's a good thing that being shut down for Winter gives them all the time in the world to indulge, because Kurt now finds himself slipping under every few days, and half of the time that he spends down there he has little to no control over himself.

When it becomes clear that this frequency is back to stay, at least for the time being, Blaine comes home with a variety of plugs and a note from the doctor that turns them both pink.

"Is this, uh, a recommended practice?" Kurt asks.

"It doesn't really guarantee anything, and we don't need them if we're able to take our time after. But when I told her that we're often—um, in a variety of positions and locations and—times of day, she said we could use them for when we need to, uh, finish and move on in a hurry?"

Kurt bites his lip. "Ah." He reaches out and picks up a medium-sized one. It's a few inches long, curved, and flared at its base. It definitely looks like it would keep him from leaking without making him feel uncomfortably full. 

"She suggested not using them after heavy meals, and to not leave them in for longer than a few hours at a time," Blaine says.

They're not as convenient as they first seem to be, but whenever Kurt has a multi-heat day, they are useful. On days like this he usually wakes up already going warm, rolls over for Blaine, his face in the mattress and his ass in the air, whimpering as Blaine pushes inside of him.

After, Blaine will ask, "Do you want the plug?" and Kurt will say yes or no depending on his mood.

It's odd, the blunt, cool, unyielding press of the thing in between Blaine's warm fingers, slotting inside and keeping him open but not stretched, not really, until the late morning. By then he's usually going into heat again, and since they rarely leave the house in Winter it's easy for Blaine to find him and slide a hand between his cheeks to remove the toy and replace it with his cock.

"You feel so much better than that thing," Kurt will moan, reaching back to hold Blaine steady so that he can impale himself on his husband's beautiful, warm, hard cock.

Even when he isn't in heat, he's insatiable. He can't stop himself from being greedy, from dropping to his knees at the slightest provocation, from spreading his legs every time that Blaine gives him even the vaguest sign of interest. A small part of him enjoys letting go, giving over to every urge, and he tries to remind himself that Blaine loves and wants to take care of him.

The doctor tells them that they should ideally only be "indulging" once every two to three days, that too many ejaculations will actually diminish the potency of Blaine's sperm, but Kurt can't function without the heats being dealt with, and their current definition of "dealt with" is Kurt being pumped full of Blaine's come at least twice a day.

It's become a bit of a joke in the house, because opening up more or less every room to their activities has led to being heard and glimpsed in the act. They've been walked in on by David and Trent and Anna more than once, in every possible position and state of undress.

Blaine has mastered the art of taking off only the clothing necessary to get their bodies together, and has told Kurt that he likes the plugs because they keep Kurt stretched, and all it takes is a dab of lotion from the bottles that they have taken to carrying to have Kurt ready within moments.

To which Kurt had replied, blushing, "I don't think I'd mind a little under-preparation."

They try it one day, using whatever tacky residue there is left of Blaine's come and the leftover lotion from that morning, and—it isn't enough. Kurt begs him not to stop, though, and whines hungrily through it, bent over a table in the library with his work robe flipped over his back and Blaine's pants undone just far enough to let his cock out. 

Kurt comes bucking back onto Blaine's cock, and it's so dry that Blaine asks him if he wants to stop a second time, but Kurt sets his feet and rolls his ass and impales himself over and over, and comes twice more, streaking the well-oiled table that his hands are flattened against with rope after rope of come. It's just this side of too much, and it's perfect.

Blaine fills him, plugs him up, and three hours later they're sitting on the floor of a storage closet with Kurt in Blaine's lap, riding him with two hands on the shelf behind them, again with just his plugged come for lubricant.

Blaine manages to gasp out, "So tight, honey, are you sure?"

Kurt cries, "Can feel it, so much, it's so good, just, don't stop, please."

Blaine doesn't. Kurt comes so hard that he thinks he loosens a few teeth, and if it wouldn't defeat the purpose entirely he'd beg for Blaine's fingers, or the plug—anything to keep the sensation going. The almost-pain feels so good when he's in heat, and as long as there isn't any tearing or bleeding, he can't imagine why they would need to stop.

He loses track of whole days this way, sometimes, surfacing only to realize where they are. 

He comes to on his hands and knees, his fists closed around the blankets on their bed as Blaine rocks into him from behind. In closets, with Blaine's fingers around the base of the plug, twisting it inside of him, getting it against his prostate just to work him to orgasm in the few minutes that they have. In storage rooms on his knees with Blaine's cock in his throat, his nose buried in Blaine's pubic hair. Countless times in countless corners with Blaine's hand around his cock. 

Several times a week he wakes up to Blaine already straddled over his ass, inside of him, riding him down into the mattress.

"You came already," Blaine gasps, "r-rubbing on my leg, god, you wouldn't sit still."

Kurt lifts up, pushing his ass into the thrusts and feeling the sticky, soft jiggle of his spent cock between his legs. The sensations come in reverse as he wakes up, and all he can do is take it as Blaine goes faster and harder. He can feel the limp satisfaction of the orgasm that he'd had in his sleep, can feel how stretched he is around Blaine's cock.

"How long have we been—"

"Twenty minutes?" Blaine asks, panting. "I—I'm close, I just—oh, my god, Kurt, that's it. Milk my cock, come on, wanna fill you up. God, the way you _smell_."

His tunic has bunched up around his waist, and Blaine's hands are holding his cheeks open. "That feels so good." He loves mornings when he has nowhere to be because they don't need to use the plug. He relaxes into the thrusts, and then when his muscles have been given a break, he clenches up again, arching his back. "Come on. Give it to me."

"So much," Blaine groans, shaking and sweating, "and it's all yours."

Blaine comes with one last thrust. They stay still for a long moment, until Kurt's relaxed around him again. Kurt can feel him look and touch, pulling Kurt's cheeks apart and using his fingertips to press the few escaping dribbles back inside. His pucker mouths at Blaine's fingers, but closes up obediently, and he shifts on his knees for the pleasure of feeling himself slippery and full.

At the end of the day Blaine will help him into the bath and use the softest cloth that he can find to clean Kurt, inside and out, until he feels like himself again. He's so raw inside, but it feels better when he's clean, when Blaine spreads him wide open and stares into the shiny candy pink of his anus, stroking him until he's bent over and growing warm.

One evening they make it as far as the bathroom door before he needs it again, and they crumple to the tile in a heap. Kurt is still open and shining from the bath, and Blaine nibbles at his ear.

"Want my tongue?" he asks, dragging Kurt's cheeks apart. "Want me to lick it better?"

"Please, please," Kurt begs, and then squeaks out a whimper when Blaine makes him kneel over his chest backwards and then inches beneath him. "Oh my god, Blaine, what—"

"Sit down," Blaine says, sucking kisses into his cheeks. "Sit down onto my mouth."

"Oh, god, oh god." 

Kurt lowers himself, Blaine's fingers holding him open, and then feels the warm wet tickle of Blaine's tongue. He licks and licks and licks, until Kurt is throbbing and fully open, and then hooks his tongue inside, using his whole mouth and chin to provide the pressure that Kurt needs.

"That's it," he says, mouthing Kurt's perineum and sac. He holds Kurt open, stretching him wide. "Mm, let me see you." He blows a cool stream of air over Kurt's hole, which trembles greedily.

Kurt barely has the mental focus to stroke himself but he manages, and comes not long after in his hand, his ass spasming around Blaine's tongue. He rides it shamelessly after the orgasm fades, his hips churning slow circles, his body shivering at the feel of Blaine's breath huffing warm and frantic between his cheeks as he moves, Blaine holding his tiny waist. 

When he can't take the sensation anymore, he falls forward onto his hands, letting Blaine lick down his sac and the spent shaft of his cock instead. He doesn't put any thought into it when he bends down to take Blaine's cock into his mouth as Blaine goes back to lapping at his pucker. He bobs around his mouthful, and stops just before Blaine comes, shifting forward on his knees until Blaine's cock lands wetly between his cheeks.

He looks back over his shoulder as he pushes the tip of Blaine's cock into his ass. "Too sensitive for another round, but—come in me?" he asks, clenching up around the head.

"Oh my god, yes," Blaine moans.

Kurt lets him stroke his own shaft, quick and choppy, and watches with wide eyes as he works himself through a shuddering orgasm, shooting white jolts into the pink gape of Kurt's ass.

"Close up for me," Blaine rasps, pushing Kurt's cheeks together around his cock. "Keep it all in, love, keep it warm. God, so many times today, your belly must be so _full_ of me."

Kurt whimpers, trying to tighten up. He can't, not all the way, so he reaches for a clean plug that's resting on a towel on the lip of the tub. It's not precisely comfortable, especially after a bath when he just wants to be empty, but when it's in he doesn't have to worry about leaking. 

Weeks pass in this fashion.

It's a bit like taking a mental vacation—time goes by and he is himself, but he sort of glides alongside of things instead of taking the middle of the road.

Unfortunately, after half a season of almost nonstop copulating, the heats still haven't abated and so, assuming that this means failure, they keep trying.

It's only a matter of time.

 

*

 

At the height of the blizzard season, Blaine's parents fall ill.

Trent interrupts Kurt and Blaine at supper that evening, pulls up a chair and downs a goblet of wine, and says, "We've had to quarantine your parents, Blaine."

Silence descends upon the table.

Kurt takes Blaine's hand while looking at Trent. "How bad?"

"It's not life-threatening or unknown, but they and half of their team have contracted it, and it isn't one of the kinder strains."

Blaine's face has gone ashen. He puts down his utensils, and says nothing.

The mood in the house shifts subtly after that, as the illness takes those that it takes, one by one, until the quarantine is sorted out—Blaine and Kurt don't have to move rooms, as the family wing is normally where the quarantining takes place—and the families and friends of those who are ill step up to provide support for their sick loved ones.

Kurt's heats have been gentler in the last few weeks, and whatever urges he feels now he can usually power through. He has to; he and Blaine are both needed, and when they aren't Blaine is so downtrodden that sex is the last thing on his mind. 

There are times, usually early in the morning and late at night, when they are both tired and worn and feeling upset, when Blaine will roll over into Kurt's arms and pulls his tunic up around his waist and pound into him just to work out whatever pent-up frustration there is left after the long day that he's had, or the other way around, but there's no talk of pregnancy or starting a family, not when such an important part of their current family is in danger.

Kurt is equally terrified for the people who are suffering behind sealed doors. He pours over medical charts and reports of their health all day, and has nightmares about them dying all night. He constantly finds Blaine crying when he thinks he's alone, and the other way around—they are both messes, Trent especially, for whom Blaine is like a brother, and his parents like the parents that Trent had never had. 

Blaine and Trent are together often in the evenings, holding hands and shedding tears. There's a camaraderie there that can't be duplicated with Kurt, and Kurt learns to appreciate it—Blaine needs Trent, and Trent needs Blaine, and it's good that they have each other.

Eventually, the illness swings into its recovery phase. There have been no deaths, but several close calls (lung failure in a teenage boy and a chest infection in an elderly man, both in the same family).

Blaine goes to stand outside of the quarantined wing of the house at daybreak on the morning that it lifts. Kurt lets him go alone, because he can't imagine forcing him to share the reunion, but promises to join him later on. When Blaine emerges from his parents' sick room well past the breakfast hour to find Kurt waiting for him, he looks as if he's been crying for hours.

"Are they alright?" Kurt asks, taking Blaine into his arms.

"They aren't sure if Mother is going to regain hearing in her right ear, and Father has moisture in his lungs that he shouldn't have, but they are past the worst of it," Blaine says.

"I'm so sorry. The both of them at the same time—I'm just glad that it wasn't any worse."

"They told me to get on with my day and then said I looked too thin, so their personalities are intact," Blaine says, and Kurt smiles.

"That's good."

Kurt tries to visit them, but Trent turns him away at the door, saying, "They won't see you, Kurt. Yes, yes, I know that whatever Blaine could have caught will jump to you anyway, but they don't want you lingering in the sick room, not with you trying to get pregnant."

He relents, only because he is relieved that they are well enough to irritate him again.

That night, after they eat and their guests leave, Blaine says, "Please have Doctor Mereen pay a house call. I want to make sure that you didn't catch anything, especially now that the recovered patients are wandering freely again."

Kurt agrees, and when they're settled in bed, semi-relaxed for what feels like the first time in weeks, Blaine asks if he'd had a heat that day.

He tries not to think about the toy in the bedside drawer and how long he'd spent after Blaine had gone to wait to see his parents this morning with the thick shaft of it balanced between his ass and the bed, using the mattress to hold it up so that he could ride it. He'd lost track of how many times he'd come, clawing the headboard, stifling his moans in the crook of his elbow. He can still see the teethmarks along his forearm where he'd bit down to stop himself from crying out, can still feel the abnormally large toy splitting him open every time that he'd come down on it.

When he doesn't answer, Blaine repeats, "Kurt?"

"Um, I—I was fine, I took care of it this morning."

"You seem stable." Blaine draws one of Kurt's legs over his hip and kisses his neck. "Would you like to—I just, I feel good, and I've missed being able to give you my full attention."

Kurt smiles into his husband's temple, and rolls over on top of him.


	17. Chapter 17

With the illness behind them and things on the compound running as smoothly as they can manage, Kurt finally finds the time to visit with his in-laws. 

Both Anita and Jon are bed-ridden and will remain so until they grow stronger—they are moving slowly through recovery. Kurt hates to see them so tired and thin, but they seem happy to receive him, and it's a relief simply to see them able to interact.

He also manages to get permission to have Doctor Mereen visit the house, and even though it takes longer than expected for her to cross the compound, she makes it before they lose the daylight, and meets Kurt and Blaine in their rooms.

They've put out a spread for dinner that's borderline excessive in terms of rations, but travel is a risk and she deserves the respect of a hot meal for her trouble. 

"Business first," she says, as she enters the room, an assistant rolling portable equipment behind her. "How are we doing, boys?"

Kurt smiles. Through correspondence, he's grown very fond of her in these last few months.

"Very well. No deaths yet, and we seem to have gotten past the worst of it."

"That I already know," she says, motioning for Kurt to undress and lie down. "I meant you two."

"The heats have been less demanding. I feel more in control, and we've been trying only once every three days for the last couple of weeks."

"That's good," she says, taking samples and vitals while they talk, stopping now and again to write on Kurt's chart while her assistant sets up the tools.

"We're worried about infection. Is there a way to tell if Kurt has picked anything up?" Blaine asks.

"Possibly," she says, pressing buttons on the scanner tool. "I'll make sure to run a full panel on his blood back at the lab. If we have a way of detecting it, and he has it, we will. That's all I can promise you." She flicks the metal bar and it lights up, as bright blue as it had been the first time that they'd seen it. "But if he isn't showing symptoms and feels healthy, I would wager that he's not going to get sick this year. The odds, at least, are in his favor."

Kurt puts his hands flat on the bed so that she can scan him from sternum to pelvis as she always does. He never quite gets over that light flickering over his skin and then exploding into a three-dimensional map of his body in mid-air. Now that he knows where his organ is, his eyes find it immediately. He's come to appreciate this little thing inside of him that makes him different.

As the image takes shape, she prepares the piercing tool. It's only when she looks up to press it against his side that something in the image hovering above the bed catches her eye. She squints, sits up straighter, and her assistant looks over her shoulder.

"What do you see, Hamil?" she asks, not looking away from it.

"There's a dense patch there, where there wasn't before. It's darker than the surrounding tissue."

"Good eye," she says. "It's small." She applies the piercing tool, and it takes its sample and begins to calculate the figures.

Blaine looks like he's been punched. Kurt is frozen solid; his heart is slamming against the inside of his throat and chest, and for a moment he actually can't bring himself to open his mouth.

Blaine's hand is strangling his on the blankets.

Her eyes dance back and forth over the readings.

Kurt's hand strangles Blaine's right back. Finally, he can't take it anymore.

"Is it a tumor? Or a growth? Is it possibly some kind of infection? It wasn't there at our last appointment, so it could have something to do with the sickness—"

She stares at him as if to say _please let me do my job, young man_ , and he stops talking. 

She takes out a pointer and uses it to trace the spot on the floating image of Kurt's abdomen. It's in the lower left part of the organ, just on the edge, and it looks like a blot on the rendering, if Kurt's being honest. He wouldn't have noticed it at all if they hadn't pointed it out to him.

"That, Kurt, Blaine—is your unborn child," she says. "Congratulations."

Kurt would like to say that his first words upon hearing the announcement are meaningful, or at least appropriately emotional, but what he blurts is, " _What_?"

He doesn't even hear Blaine laugh hysterically and whisper, "Oh my god."

"It's a—it's a smudge," Kurt says, his face blank, "h-how do you—"

"The chemical markers for successful implantation of a fertilized egg are very clear in the readings as well as the image. I would say, judging by the size, that you've been pregnant for about six weeks."

Kurt can't feel anything. 

And then, in the space of a heartbeat, he begins to feel far too much—his skin flashes hot and cold, he can feel Blaine hugging him, kissing him, breathing against his hair, then climbing onto the bed and clasping him.

He can hear Blaine shrieking, shouting, but doesn't hear the words. He begins to giggle hysterically into his hands as Blaine runs around the room with his arms above his head. He's still chanting "Oh my god" but now it's interspersed with "we're going to have a baby! Kurt!" and various combinations of the two phrases, until even Doctor Mereen is chuckling and her assistant is looking very pleased with himself.

Kurt can't breathe, and his fingers and toes are tingling but everything in between feels like it's been sucked into a black hole in his chest.

"Blaine Anderson, stop running laps before you break something," he says, and Blaine jumps onto the bed and kisses him quiet.

"Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, you're pregnant," he sings. There are tears on his face.

Kurt's throat closes up at the sight, and he bites his lip to stifle the whimper that rises in his throat, but not before his eyes mist over and Blaine laughs, stroking his face. 

He asks the doctor without looking away from Kurt, "Do we know if everything is okay, I mean, when will we know if the baby is growing well, or healthy, or...?"

She clears her throat. "That's where this becomes less than satisfactory. After the growth passes a certain point, the only thing that we can do is rely on the imagining scan. The insertion/fluid test is not viable after that stage, and—we don't have any of the technology that existed to test the child's health while it's inside the organ. We can chart the growth rate and extrapolate from those numbers the approximate birth date, down to usually three to six weeks. But aside from that, it's a waiting game."

"Do I have to do anything differently? Change anything?" Kurt asks. "What I eat, what I do?"

"Make sure to eat a balanced diet. If a certain kind of food disgusts you, trust your instincts and avoid it. As you grow bigger, you may want to avoid strenuous physical activity in large doses, but the organ is resilient and strong and you won't become an invalid at any point. You will want to stay close to the compound during the last two months, in case emergency surgery becomes necessary. It's always better to operate prematurely than late, in this case. Carrier babies develop faster and typically handle prematurity with higher success rates than other babies, but wait too long and you risk the organ shutting down with little to no warning."

Kurt knows that he'll have a thousand questions later, but the next thing that pops into his head is, "Can we continue having sex normally?"

She smiles. "Yes. The rectal tube closes itself off once the egg implants."

"Should we wait to announce it? Is there a higher risk of losing the baby in the beginning?" Blaine asks.

"For carriers, the most worry-free time is the beginning," she says. "It's when the organ has to stretch to fit the growing baby that things can go wrong. Kurt's organ is very advanced, healthy, and in good spot, and I don't think that's likely, but—in terms of making an announcement? That's entirely up to you." When they don't immediately begin shooting more questions at her, she says, "If you want to continue this conversation we can do so through written messages—Hamil has to make weekly rounds in the village, and will be out and about as often as he can."

Blaine looks at Kurt, who nods, and after a round of handshakes and several repeated congratulations and instructions for the doctor and her assistant to enjoy the meal that was put out for them, they're left alone.

Blaine is sitting near the head of the bed, and Kurt doesn't say anything, just crawls into his lap.

After ten minutes of dead silence, Kurt starts to sniffle into his neck, then cry quietly, and Blaine holds him, rocks him back and forth while the emotion bleeds out. He isn't even sure why he's crying—it's just too much, and it's compiling all at once, and feeling safe with Blaine means feeling vulnerable, too.

"If I'm like this the whole time, I give you permission to make me sleep in my office," he mutters, nasal and wet.

Blaine laughs, kissing his snotty, tear-soaked lip with no evidence of concern. "I love you. I love you so very much, and you are going to be wonderful, and so am I. We're going to do this, Kurt, and we're going to do it spectacularly."

"Is there a ritual for making the announcement?" Kurt asks, his cheek against Blaine's chest. 

"No," Blaine says, "not really. Infant mortality is too high for such a thing to become codified."

Kurt swallows heavily. "I know. I'm prepared for—I know."

They all do. It's a fact of life.

"But Kurt," Blaine says. "There has never been an organ as advanced as yours. Not in our records, and not in any of the records that I've managed to gather from other provinces. I think—I think that we might be very lucky indeed."

"I agree. I don't want to dwell too much on the what ifs. Most of all? I just want to get back to normal things. I want the snow to melt and I want to visit my family and I want to keep taking care of our people."

"You will. We will," Blaine reassures him, and then, very slowly, puts his hand on Kurt's belly, right over the organ. "I do want to tell my parents, at the very least, if you're agreeable. We could ask for their advice about announcements and go from there."

"Could we just—lie here, and be quiet, for a while?" Kurt asks, reaching for the covers.

"I want to get you a glass of water and then, yes."

Crying has left him dehydrated, and he does feel better after he drinks the water. Blaine shrugs out of his outer layer and crawls beneath the blankets with him, putting his head on Kurt's chest and lacing their fingers over his belly.

"Are you happy?" he asks, kissing Kurt's fingers, one by one. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am," Kurt says, laughing, as if it seems strange to him. "I wish I could have somehow recorded your reaction, though."

Blaine laughs. "I am relieved that you couldn't. Think of what you could do with proof of my complete lack of decorum in the face of life-changing news."

There is a beat of silence, and then Kurt drawls, "This doesn't mean that we'll be having less sex, does it? Because if so I am already having regrets."

"Oh my god, Kurt," Blaine groans.

"Kidding," Kurt says, grinning ear to ear. "Mostly."

 

*

 

It's the first time that Blaine has seen his mother cry, really cry, since he was a child. 

There have been plenty of times in his adult life when he's seen her mist over, or choke up, but when he and Kurt are sat opposite his parents on their recovery bed with a meal spread out between them and Blaine says, "Kurt is pregnant", he isn't prepared for her reaction. 

She goes very still, and then her chin wobbles once before she bites her lips inward, and then two streaks of tears slip down her face, all without a single word or noise. Blaine's father takes her hand, and she grips it so hard that both of their knuckles go white. His father's eyes shimmer with tears and then they fall, too, and Blaine breathes out to steady himself.

"Well," Jon says, "that is—excellent, simply excellent, we are—congratulations, dear boys."

Anita sniffles and then exhales. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Kurt replies, smiling, his hand on Blaine's leg. "Overwhelmed but—excited and happy. The doctor says that we have good reason to be optimistic."

"You must let us handle all of the preparations," she says. "Tell us your plans as they take shape and we will see them realized."

"When you are ready, we will draft a formal announcement that will be distributed throughout the compound and sent to the village governors for the same, as well as to the other province leaders. They generally do as they see fit with such news, which isn't always how we handle it, but as long as they are aware of the situation, that is enough for now," Jon says.

After they've exhausted themselves with the announcement talk, Kurt and Blaine take a walk around the house to clear their heads.

Kurt asks, "Will we not be discussing the less pressing arrangements until the child is born? We don't dive in head first until the pregnancy looks viable where I come from, either, but with matters of inheritance so prominent here, I just assumed—"

"They will quietly arrange certain things as the baby grows," Blaine says, "but they won't speak of those things at length until we're much closer."

"Does that extend to us? Do you want to not plan too thoroughly?"

Blaine hesitates. He is taken off-guard by the question, because he hasn't thought about it, not really. He's been wandering around in a state of euphoria just knowing that they are going to be fathers—that has been more than enough to think about. 

Does he prefer his parents' method, or does he dare to be different?

One look at Kurt's expectant face decides the matter for him.

"No, love," he says, swinging their laced hands. "I don't want us to act as if we're waiting for bad news. Let's plan. And then when we turn our ideas over to them, we'll know that we put the right amount of thought into them."

Kurt smiles, pleased and shimmering with it. "Okay."

The one thing they decide straight away is that the nursery's theme will be the forest—they are both very much in love with the land that they grew up on, and the dark-stained hardwood floors and trim already present in the nursery will be the perfect backdrop for it.

They envision walls painted with trees and overhanging branches on the ceiling, cloth hanging down to give the illusion of three-dimensions. Splashes of color in the form of wildflowers and leaves and grass and pine needles, and furniture carved to look like forest growth twisted up from seemingly natural extensions in the floor. Throw pillows in the shape of mushrooms, forest animals, and flowers, blankets patterned with realistic leaf litter and dirt, and a background of bright blue Summer sky to bring a liveliness to the room.

They discuss, in passing, other things—possible names, child care candidates, wardrobe, and toys—but they want to take their time and not get too caught up in making decisions just yet.

 

*

 

Kurt inspects his belly every morning before he gets dressed. 

He knows that he's being silly—it's too soon for him to be showing—but carriers often grow babies faster, and he wants to prepare himself. He's already let out at least a quarter of his wardrobe, and designed little inlays and sashes in a rainbow of colors to add to them to make the changes into fashion statements in preparation for the physical change.

It's more than just that, though.

Something shifts between he and Blaine, though he can't say exactly what—they're sweeter to each other but also more mature, settled in a way that they have never been before. They grow even more deeply attached and are always together, sleeping tangled up and lingering in their rooms until they are forced apart by duty. Their no overt public displays of affection while on the job rule goes out the window; they can't keep their hands off of each other, and if all Kurt can get during the day are chaste kisses and hand holding and embraces then he'll take them.

The heats stop, as predicted, but Kurt is still constantly turned on—he isn't sure why, but there is just something so erotic about knowing that Blaine has planted a child inside of him, something almost animal in nature, primitive and virile and raw. He can't help but flush hot every time that he glances at his husband, broad-shouldered and laughing.

Blaine teases Kurt when he catches him staring, says things like, "And just what are we gazing at, Mr. Hummel?"

To which Kurt will groan, "God, Blaine, your _arms_ ," and latch on like a leech.

Everything takes on a slightly different flavor, from the way that his morning tea tastes to the foods that he eats (early on he develops an aversion to dairy products that he can't explain, and finds himself gorging on fruit instead, which is a challenge in the dead of Winter, and often has Blaine ransacking the pantry at all hours of the night) to the way that his bath products smell. 

As the weeks pass, he grows into the changes, and isn't as surprised when he becomes suddenly tired or craves a particular meal, or has a random burst of arousal that leaves him desperate. He is just as often irritable and sad, and just as often simply himself—it's up and down, and he tries to ride the shifts as he does everything else, with patience and an open mind.

It isn't always that easy, of course, but Blaine is understanding and learns how to subvert his moods with humor and affection and, often, distance—Kurt needs his space, needs to be alone, needs to know that he can set his own boundaries and have them respected.

For every stumble, they take three steps forward, and that is what matters most.

 

*

 

Once they are sure that the Winter illness and the worst of the blizzards have passed, they relax into a routine that's full of late mornings and early bedtimes. On one of these mornings, Kurt wakes up to Blaine as hard as stone against the small of his back. 

There's no sun yet today, just gray gloom that paints the room with pale shadows, and Kurt looks over his shoulder at Blaine, beautiful even in this dull light, with a tiny furrow between his brows because he's asleep but also rubbing himself against Kurt in unconscious pleasure.

Kurt rolls over in his arms, slowly, so as not to wake him, and inches down the bed. Blaine is already naked, so it takes no jostling at all to sink his mouth around Blaine's cock and suck, gentle but wet, eager bobs, Blaine's familiar shape settling inside of his mouth. It's like coming home, the slotting together of their parts, so comfortable for Kurt now, but no less exciting for it. 

Blaine wakes up in stages, at first going tense, then shifting his legs, then his arms, then his eyelids flutter and his faces twists up and his mouth opens on a noise. He settles again for a minute or two, but then Kurt rolls him onto his back and takes his cock deeper, edging it into his throat and tightening his grip around the base. Without the warmth of the blankets around his body, Blaine wakes up faster.

When he finally moans, " _Kurt_ ," and puts one hand in Kurt's hair, Kurt smiles and pulls off.

"Good morning," he says.

"I thought I was dreaming."

"You were. I just made it a reality," Kurt says, and goes back to work.

"God," Blaine hisses, his head falling back onto the pillows.

When Kurt's jaw starts to twinge he switches to dragging his tongue up, down, and around Blaine's thick cock, until it's shining with his saliva and twitching in his hand. It's gorgeous—Blaine is gorgeous—and he wants to devour it. He doesn't want to rush, though.

He sits up in between Blaine's thighs, blushing hot when Blaine looks at him. Blaine's eyes rake over his bed-messy hair, his broad shoulders, his flushed nipples, and the little swell that's just beginning to show on the lower left side of his belly. 

Kurt wets his lips, his hands braced on his naked thighs, and then moves them to Blaine's waist as he straddles Blaine's hips. Blaine's eyes follow his every movement.

"Lotion?" Kurt asks. When he has it, he scoops out some and reaches back, smearing it over Blaine's cock. "I want to sit down on your cock," he says, stroking the excess lotion off onto his pucker. "And I want to ride you, but I don't want you to come until I say that you can." Blaine inhales sharply, and Kurt reaches down to touch the trembling skin of his belly. "I want to go slowly. I want to feel you all day, after we finish. I want you so deep inside of me."

"Anything," Blaine says, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Anything you want."

Kurt isn't sure whether that's a challenge or an offer or both, but he decides to go with both. 

He takes his time inching his ass down around Blaine's cock, moving with graceful intent in the overcast light of their bedchamber, one hand braced on Blaine's cock to guide it and the other on his belly for balance, his brow wrinkled and his eyes shut as he swivels his hips from side to side in an almost imperceptible motion to get his body down, down, down, the tight rings of his ass forced to stretch to take his husband's cock inside.

When he settles, he relaxes consciously, and adds a dab of lotion so that he can begin to move. Blaine's fingers grip his hips, and together they settle into a slow rocking motion. They swap Blaine thrusting up with Kurt rising up and then falling down—it's a slow grind, forward to back, over and over again, and then Kurt begins rolling his pelvis in full circles, around and around, his ass soft-over-hard beneath Blaine's fingers.

Blaine watches him do it, watches him use Blaine's cock to pleasure himself, to hit that spot inside that makes his skin go bumpy and his body shiver.

"S-stop," Blaine gasps, after a time. "I'm close."

Kurt stops, smiles wickedly and scrapes his fingernails up and down Blaine's chest, through the sweat and the hair and over his small, brown nipples. 

"Let me know when it backs down," he says, and sits still, forcing himself to loosen up.

"You weren't joking."

"Mm, no, I wasn't."

"God, you are amazing."

Of course, around the sixth or so time that Kurt forces Blaine to stop from coming, he's doing more cursing and less praising, but he doesn't protest. 

Sweat drips down Kurt's temples. His scalp is soaked with it, and it's beginning to dot his shoulders and back and make his ass slippery. His thighs are burning and his abdominal muscles are screaming, but he wants more. He always wants more. So he stops, again.

Blaine growls, his ass off the bed, "Oh my god."

Kurt laughs, breathless, as Blaine's fingers splay across his belly. "Still with me?"

"Cruel," Blaine hisses. Kurt can feel his cock throb at its base. 

"I'm just taking advantage of your stamina, old man," Kurt says.

"Oh, is that where we're taking this?"

Kurt grins, rocking his hips. "I think you'll like where I'm taking this."

"Were you playing with these before I woke up?" Blaine asks, drawing circles around Kurt's nipples. "They're different."

Kurt goes hot—even hotter than he already is, which is saying something. 

He hadn't been sure that he wasn't misunderstanding the change, until he got a note back from the doctor stating that his mammary glands must be acting up early. She suspects that it's some kind of a hormone misfire from his organ, because they certainly shouldn't be active this soon. 

Whatever the cause, they've been sensitive to the point of pain, darker, harder, and the soft skin around them has grown puffy. A few nights ago he'd squeezed them in an attempt to soothe the ache and he'd soaked his fingers with—well, he isn't sure if it's milk yet, or ever will be, but it was thick at first, and then a few hours later it was thin and cloudy, and he'd been so embarrassed that he had decided not to mention it to Blaine just yet.

But when Blaine begins stroking them now, it's like they're connected to all the erogenous zones on his body—he gasps, and bucks, and Blaine's eyebrows shoot up.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" Blaine asks, thumbing the pebbled tips.

"Gngh," Kurt moans.

Blaine squeezes the supple flesh around them in his hands without stopping the slow graze of his fingertips over the nipples themselves. Kurt twists, and feels Blaine's cock shift inside of him.

"B-Blaine," he whimpers, closing his hands in Blaine's chest hair. "They—I'm—lactating," he finishes lamely, squinting at Blaine because he isn't sure what sort of reaction he'll get.

Blaine's face goes dark with blood, and he rasps, "Already? Is that normal?"

"Not precisely," he answers, rocking a little, because the sensations are layering and it's strange and he feels almost itchy. "God, don't stop, that feels so good, when you rub them."

"What did the doctor say?" Blaine asks. He slowly sits up, keeping Kurt in place but wrapping one arm around Kurt's lower back. He obviously wants a closer look.

"She said it might be a problem if I want to feed the baby, or milk myself for the baby after the birth, but we won't know until then, until the organ goes d-dormant," he answers, his voice breaking because—he's distracted, and Blaine is squeezing his nipples. "Blaine. God, _Blaine_."

"Mm, they're so hard," Blaine whispers, brushing his mouth over one of them. "So flushed. And—protruding, you're so swollen up around them." He holds Kurt's gaze as he wraps his lips around one and gently sucks the nipple and areola both into his mouth.

"Oh—oh, my g-god," Kurt whines.

"Good or bad?"

"Good. So good. Oh, keep doing that."

Blaine repeats the same broad sucking tug on the opposite nipple and back again, until they are both even more swollen, sticking out farther from Kurt's chest, and shining with spit. Blaine sits back to look at his handiwork, a playful grin tugging the corners of his lips up. He goes back to the left one, wraps his lips around the tip and holds it still as he begins to lick it with firm, steady strokes. He fingers the other one to keep it busy, and Kurt—

Kurt begins to lose it. It's like electric at his nerve endings and a bruise being pressed at the same time, only everywhere, and it's making him spasm and twitch in places that are unrelated to anything that they are doing right now. It makes his cock dribble, too, and the smears that this leaves all over Blaine's belly stay connected to the head of his cock by silken strands.

Blaine grasps Kurt's cock with his free hand. Kurt cries out, his wide eyes glued to the sight of Blaine's mouth working his nipples, one and then the other, back and forth, back and forth.

He'd thought that they were obvious before, but now they are almost obscene looking, flushed dark red and shining and sticking out from his chest, so swollen and so irritated that they are providing equal parts of pain and pleasure.

He realizes that he's gripping Blaine's hair too roughly, and loosens his fist. 

Within the warm cocoon of Blaine's mouth, his teeth apply themselves to the rock-hard nub of Kurt's nipple, dig in and tug and drag the tortured flesh deeper into his mouth and against his tongue. The vibration of his hum of excitement makes Kurt's skin buzz. Kurt bucks in his lap, clutching the back of his neck, his ass going tight around Blaine's cock.

"You're shaking," Blaine moans, tearing his mouth away with a wet smack, lines of spit connecting Kurt's pectoral muscle to his lips. "You feel so close." 

His nipples are leaking freely now, weeping fluid in continuous little trickles.

Blaine's hand slides through the pale milk that's smeared down Kurt's chest—it's formed milky tracks down his ribs and belly, over his hip bones and down into his pubic hair. Blaine gently squeezes Kurt's cock while licking the milk up, bending low to lap all the way to his belly as Kurt arches up into Blaine's wandering mouth. Watching Blaine suck the milk from his skin is making his heart slam against his chest, but it's not enough.

"Please," Kurt breathes, his head tilting back. "Please, lick—lick them, b-bite them, need more."

"God, you're—look at it," Blaine whispers, dragging his thumbs through the mess, over Kurt's quivering belly and sharp ribs and heaving sternum.

Somewhere in between Kurt's request and his orgasm rising beyond the hope of falling back again, Blaine gives in. He hungrily licks at Kurt's nipples, and then nips them with the edges of his teeth until Kurt is sobbing. It's enough to shove Kurt right over the edge, driven by the sight of Blaine sucking his nipple and the skin around it, his wet fingers tugging at the other roughly, and then—he feels the nipple that's in Blaine's mouth gush fluid.

Blaine swallows reflexively, his eyes rolling back. "Oh, my god—can you do that again?"

The squirting doesn't feel like anything to Kurt, but watching Blaine swallow around it, watching Blaine hungrily latch onto his nipple and suck and suck and suck, his cheeks hollowing and his long eyelashes fluttering in pleasure, his thick, masculine, dark fingers squeezing the pale puffy flesh to keep Kurt squirting into his mouth—

Kurt comes hard enough to unseat himself, thrashing forward and sending Blaine sprawling onto his back. His ass clenches around Blaine's cock as his own goes stiff in Blaine's hand, jerking and spilling wet all over his fingers and chest. When Blaine drops his hands to hold himself up on his elbows, Kurt slams back down onto his cock, and then begins bouncing on it.

Kurt groans, his knees digging into the squeaking mattress. "Are you ready to come for me?"

There are wet smears all over Blaine's mouth and chin—Kurt can't tell whether they're spit or milk, but the sight is enough to animate him. He grabs Blaine's wrists and pins them to the bed so that he can lean down against them and control every downward thrust.

Blaine is staring up at him, his pulse slamming against his throat. Something fractures in his eyes and he makes a noise, flips them over so that Kurt is underneath him, and begins hammering into Kurt roughly, so fast that the slap of their bodies almost hurts.

Kurt puts his legs around Blaine's back. "Yes," he gasps, lifting his ass up for the punishment. "Just like that. Make me feel it. Come on. Come. _Come_."

He doesn't feel Blaine's hand move until it closes around his nipple, until Blaine's fingernails bite into the flesh there and squeeze and twist. Kurt cries out. His toes curl, he feels his cock pulse, and he comes a second time, dry but no less intense. He continues crying out, until Blaine's grip eases up. Blaine flattens their bodies together, his mouth against Kurt's neck, and his hips slamming between Kurt's spread cheeks. 

"So good," Blaine hisses. "Going to come inside of you." He thrusts, rough and quick, not holding back. "Going to make you so wet, love—letting me in so deep, so good for me, love you, love you so much, god, there, there, damn damn damn—"

The bed shakes beneath them. Blaine shouts his pleasure, pushes deep and comes, flooding Kurt's insides with it. It's so much, and it's leaking out even before he pulls back, ribbons of thin come trickling down Kurt's ass to puddle on the bed. Blaine thrusts through it, stays hard enough to keep pushing into him for minutes beyond that, until the space between them is a war zone of fluid, puddling between them in dips and furls of muscle and skin and hair.

Blaine looks feral, dazed, and overcome, and Kurt grabs his jaw and kisses him hard enough to hurt, spearing his mouth with his tongue and somehow mustering up the strength to take control again, wrestling them onto their sides before rolling on top of and kissing him again.

"Good god," Blaine gasps, sprawling beneath Kurt as he kisses down Blaine's neck.

"Can you come again?" Kurt asks, already crawling down.

"I—I don't know—" Kurt swallows his sticky cock to the root. He doesn't care if Blaine can or not. He just wants a cock in his mouth. "Oh my god." Blaine sobs, his back arching.

Kurt grabs his thighs, then his ass, and squeezes. He takes Blaine's cock into his throat, bobbing hard and fast and swallowing around it while breathing frantically through his nose.

When Blaine comes he feels it, a dribble of fluid but more pulse than anything else, his cock jolting against Kurt's tongue and cheek, before his hips drive it into Kurt's throat, making him gag.

Kurt can't remember the last time that they'd had sex this long, this hard, and his body is wrecked, especially his nipples and the skin around them. His muscles are on fire and his ass is still leaking and his jaw and mouth are scrubbed red and his throat aches and god, they really—should probably bathe and soak, because this is going to hurt all day, and he is exhausted as it is.

Blaine laughs, his chest heaving, his arms flung out, and Kurt flops down beside him. 

After a moment, Blaine looks at him, his eyelids fluttering. "They're—still leaking."

"You have a fetish."

Blaine laughs, licking the residue of milk from his lips. "You may call it whatever you like." He reaches over to trace one of Kurt's puffy, dark nipples with his finger. "Do they hurt very much?"

"They hurt," Kurt says. "I think I'm going to need to limit the repetition of—what we just did. Also, wrap them in something during the day to keep them from chafing."

The adrenaline rush is fading, and they are both growing sleepy. It's got to be almost lunch time. Kurt sniffs the air, smells coffee, and groans.

"They always bring lunch early when we're doing that. And then they leer at me all week."

Blaine laughs. "I believe that bird is out of the cage, love. It flew long ago."

Kurt laughs, shaking his head, and then rolls over. "Well, this bird is flying into the bath."

"Let's take turns. I'll bring you coffee."

Kurt kisses Blaine. "You are wonderful." He switches his hips the whole way across the room, knowing perfectly well that Blaine is staring at his naked, scratched, bruised, stretched, come-streaked, and sweaty body with hungry eyes. Before disappearing, he turns and asks over his shoulder, one hand drifting over the little swell of his belly, "Fix me some toast with jam, too?"

Blaine's jaw hangs, and Kurt takes that as a yes.

 

*

 

There is a limit to how long they can wait to announce the pregnancy. Kurt has begun to show, and the people closest to him are bound to notice, so they allow Blaine's parents to draw up the announcement. 

Before it's distributed, Kurt invites Anna to lunch (while Blaine does the same with Trent).

He slides a copy of it across the table, and she makes a surprised noise and puts her mug down with a clatter. "Oh, Kurt. Oh, _Kurt_ ," she says, as she hugs him around the neck so hard that he chokes and laughs at the same time. "Congratulations!"

From there, the word spreads like wildfire, until everyone in the house knows. The announcement is posted at the town hall building, and though the ones that must travel to the villages wait for better weather, the compound is made fully aware in almost no time at all. 

Kurt and Blaine are overwhelmed by the quiet but constant congratulations that they receive. Gifts are taboo at this stage, so they receive nothing material, but this doesn't stop people from planning ahead, and they've already been promised dozens of things. Blaine's parents have their requests for clothing, toys, and the nursery's construction and decoration and, though they say very little, Kurt knows that they have begun making arrangements.

Coping with both public and private response is one thing; internalizing the news is quite another.

Since finding out about the pregnancy, Kurt has emotionally coasted—happily, but also superficially, thinking of the situation more in terms of what it means to others than himself. 

He has watched Blaine float around the house singing under his breath, practically skipping down the hallways, even carrying on at work with a new spring in his step, making everyone who crosses his path smile and fall under the influence of his mood even more than before.

Kurt has allowed himself the indulgence of being coddled by Blaine's parents, who, after their illness, seem slower but also less reserved in their affections. It makes Kurt think about how his dad and Carole and Finn will react to the news, and he wishes that he could get word to them.

Everyone on the compound has made him feel loved and supported.

He wants this child. He wants to start a family with Blaine. He can feel all of the pieces of their future neatly slotting into place. Even though he doesn't want to imagine Blaine's parents gone, his logical mind can predict what it will be like when they are. He can see Blaine and himself completely in control of the province, making changes and handling business. He can see them raising their child together. He can even see them having more, if his organ holds out. If not, he is sure that they will be happy regardless. And if something dreadful were to happen, he can see them coping with that, too, and finding comfort in each other.

But this is all detached sentiment, and Kurt knows that he's chosen that path because it's easier.

One afternoon he ducks into their rooms to change and finds Blaine sitting on the couch in his retiring room, flipping through one of his mom's journals.

"I want the baby to look like you," Blaine says, when Kurt sits down next to him. "Look at how lovely you were."

This is somewhat of a joke between them, because neither of them cares what their baby looks like as long as he or she is healthy, but that isn't what Kurt thinks of as he sits there.

He hasn't looked at his mom's things in a while, and seeing them hurts. He doesn't realize that he's put a hand on his belly until Blaine strokes the back of it.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he says, frowning.

"You didn't," Kurt says, around the lump in his throat. "S-sorry, I just—"

"Miss her every day. I know. I know, honey."

Kurt puts his head on Blaine's shoulder, and lets himself be comforted.

He isn't sure that Blaine knows. Not really.

The careful wall that he's built up around his emotions since the day that they had found out about the pregnancy fractures at this. Later, when he's alone, he sits in his retiring room in front of his desk and reads his mom's journals from the time of his birth until his third or fourth year of life. She had not been the most philosophical person, not in any formal way, but she had been smart and thoughtful and in touch with her feelings, and she had articulated those feelings well.

Grief finds him more easily than it ever has before, using the bridge of shared experience to travel right to the heart of him, and as he reads he becomes more and more overwhelmed. Crying becomes sobbing, and sobbing becomes inconsolable anger, that she'd left him, that that stupid baby had taken her from him, that he's forever to be without her. He shouldn't be without her. She should be here, holding his hand and telling him that it's all going to be alright. She should be here to give him advice, to rub his belly as it grows and tell him how to cope with it all.

He curls up in a ball on the window seat, staring out at the black, cold sky, obscured by snow and the shimmering temperature buffer that lies between the layers of glass.

He wants to say to his unborn child, "I will never leave you the way that she left me. I will always be there for you."

But he can't. He can't say those words, for the same reason that his mom had never said them to him: it's a promise that a parent can never make.

As his rage simmers from sludge to vapor, he wipes the tears from his face and forces himself to breathe evenly, to master the emotions that are snapping through him. 

He can't hate her. He can't bring himself to blame her, even—she had been healthy, they had wanted another child, the pregnancy had not been difficult, but then she had just been gone, and the baby with her. He realizes that he had never even grieved for that sibling, that his dad had done all the crying for a child that had never taken a single breath. 

He should have cried, too, shouldn't he have? The loss is like a fist landing at the center of his chest, and he clutches his arms around his knees and rocks and shakes.

The thought of losing the tiny life growing inside of him like that—

The feeling is beyond rage, beyond fear, beyond anything that he's ever felt before. It makes him want to rip his own flesh off just to escape it, and sends a panic so deep into his bones that he almost can't imagine having room for it. He feels as if it could tear him into a thousand pieces.

That can't happen. It can't. It would kill him to bear it, how does anyone _bear_ it?

Days later, he wakes up in the middle of the night crying and tells Blaine all of this, his voice cracking and high-pitched. They sit together until dawn, talking about Kurt's fears and anger and guilt and grief until there's nothing left but hollow spaces inside of his chest, a new understanding between them, and a knot of thirst and hunger in his belly that he can't ignore.

Blaine calls for food despite the early hour and feeds him, strokes his hair and kisses him after every bite, and with each kiss reminds him that he is loved, and that even if the worst were to happen, they would still be there afterward, together, as they always will be.

Kurt hasn't shaved or showered in days. He knows that he reeks, that his face is crusted with snot and tears and sweat, that his hair is greasy and lank, and even though this bothers him, Blaine doesn't care. Blaine loves him as he is, doesn't need him to be perfect or even strong. He can be broken, and still be loved, he can be flawed, and still be wanted, and it feels—like a gift.

"I love you," he says, when there is nothing more important left to say.

Blaine smiles against the corner of his mouth. "I love you, too."


	18. Chapter 18

As the weather grows kinder, the house comes to life again. 

Kurt's belly is now a pronounced bump, and he switches his normal work robes to the paternity ones. He isn't sure whether the stares and soft gasps of surprise are compliments or simply people being unprepared for the sight, but he finds himself smiling all the same. He is used to drawing focus, and this is only so different.

He is also growing used to the way that the pregnancy makes him feel, and even though the mood swings are still unpredictable, he manages. Mostly, he's just exhausted.

His team is experienced enough as a group now that his own role has settled into what it should be—creating plans and approving decisions. Most of this takes place in meeting rooms, not far from their chambers, so that if he tires he can be comfortable within minutes.

Because of the need for a reduced workload, Anna has taken over a lot of his face-to-face. In the Winter this amounts to almost nothing, as off-compound visits are all but nonexistent, but once the roads open up again there will be more of this, and Kurt wonders if perhaps he should let her have that responsibility entirely. She is very good at it, and seems eager to take it on.

In any case, he has time to decide—they are still a month, maybe two, away from travel opening up across the province again.

 

*

 

Blaine does not think that he has seen anything more beautiful than his husband naked, stepping out of the bath in the morning, water glistening on and dripping down his pale skin, over the lean lines of his body, and now—

Curling over the sweet swollen side of his belly, and then onto his pelvis, some trickling right off of the slope of that curve, some shifting down into his pubic hair, and some sliding down his legs.

He stands, his towel hanging limp in his hands, his head tilted to follow the movement of the water droplets, and only snaps out of it when Kurt laughs.

"See something you like?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his tone.

Blaine wants to drop to his knees and worship it. "Like" is somewhat of an understatement.

Kurt stands in a swirl of steam from the bath, toweling his hair. He's pink and pale everywhere, light brown hair thick on his legs but thin more or less everywhere else—he's all wide shoulders and heavy thighs and a big, soft cock. The dip of his back is criminal, the wideness of his hands a contrast to the slender, flat lengths of his silly feet. His hair is sticking up from the brisk toweling, and he still has stubble on his face because he hasn't shaved yet.

Blaine often can't breathe for wanting him this way, stripped bare and so beautifully, visually pregnant with Blaine's child.

Blaine watches him shave through the mirror, the hypnotic swirl of cream over his cheeks and jaw, the mesmerizing swipe of the razor, precise motions that show off the muscles in his arms and the backs of his hands. When he's done, he applies lotion and moisturizer to his face, and smooths his hair back to look at his eyes and jaw critically.

Blaine steps up behind him, puts his hands on his hips and leans up on his toes to kiss the sweet-smelling hair at the back of his head. He strokes his right palm over Kurt's cock through his towel. The other hand, as it is coming to do by default, settles over his round belly.

"I just got clean," Kurt says, one side of his mouth twitching up into a knowing smile.

Blaine squeezes the fat width of Kurt's towel-clad cock. "Want this," he says, against the nape of Kurt's neck. "Just—let me? I'll be so quick." He kisses the top knob of Kurt's spine, and lowers his voice to a rasp. "Want you in my mouth, love."

"You know all of my weaknesses," Kurt groans, and watches through the mirror as Blaine unwraps the towel from around his waist.

Blaine kneels, pressing his cheek to Kurt's belly, unable to resist kissing over the spot where he's round and hard. His cock is stiffening up already, and after a few tugs of Blaine's hand it's standing proud against the curve of his pregnant belly, flushed dark and thick at the head. 

"So gorgeous," Blaine breathes, nuzzling against it before tonguing it into his mouth. "Lean back against the counter." The angle gives him more room to work with, though swallowing Kurt's big cock to the back of his throat and then sucking it like it's candy is always a challenge.

"Oh my god," Kurt moans, his thighs trembling as Blaine's dark head bobs under his fingers. The obscenely wet slurping echoes off of the walls and ceiling of the bathroom, the only noise aside from their heavy breathing and Kurt making the occasional noise.

It only takes a few minutes, and by the end of it Kurt is thrusting into Blaine's mouth, Blaine's curls around his fingers, and Blaine is quivering with satisfaction—on his knees with his mouth full of his husband's cock is one of his favorite places to be. 

Kurt's voice breaks when he gasps out, "C-coming," and spills into the back of Blaine's mouth and down his throat. Blaine holds still, unable to breathe, trying not to gag before he can swallow.

He sucks in a breath when it's over, licks Kurt clean and puts his forehead on Kurt's belly. But he did make a promise—so he takes a cloth from the counter, wets it with warm water, and runs it carefully over Kurt's cock and balls and thighs and stomach. He drops a soft kiss on the shrunken shaft, and then the curve of his belly, and stands, smiling into his neck.

"Mm, okay?"

"Understatement," Kurt says, smiling and weak-kneed.

The last few months have been a veritable orgy of intimacy for them. Having the time to see every side of each other, from the good to the not so flattering, has been a pleasure. There are challenges involved in that, but working through these has brought them closer together.

Blaine remembers being afraid, being doubtful, and is grateful now to be able to call that a memory. It isn't that he's left it all behind, but rather that it's lost its power over him. 

He's learned to trust—learned to believe in what he and Kurt can accomplish together. He's learned to believe in himself and what he brings to their union, learned that he must understand and appreciate himself before he can expect Kurt to do the same. He's learned to not second-guess every too-perfect thing, and to not panic the moment that something seems wrong. 

 

*

 

The week that the local roads clear, Blaine and Kurt decide to check in with some of their direct reports who live near the compound. It doesn't take long, and the temperature has risen enough to make going farther possible, so they take the sturdiest horses that they have and do some poking around in the surrounding areas, as well. The cold and the company both are refreshing, blasting the dust from their heads and bringing a rosy flush to their cheeks. 

There's a halfway point between one of the field research labs that they have visited and the manor, a snug trio of cabins that have excellent heating tech and non-perishable food stores. They won't make it back to the compound before dark, so they decide to stay here overnight.

Blaine and Kurt settle into one cabin by themselves, and then take supper with their people. No one asks after the pregnancy, but some do glance at Kurt's round belly and smile politely.

Back in their cabin for the night, they seal the door and windows and bring the room up to temperature before getting undressed, cleaning off with a shared hot tub of water, a bar of soap, and soft cloths in a perfunctory way. They change into sleeping tunics and cuddle up under the blankets, trying to get their hands and feet to warm up faster.

Kissing is an excellent way to make this happen, Blaine decides, and Kurt has no objections.

When things begin to get urgent, they reach for each other's tunic hems at the same time.

"Great minds," Kurt says, laughing and kissing Blaine's neck.

They draw their tunics up and off, slotting their legs and their cocks together in the close heat beneath the blankets. Blaine kisses down the side of Kurt's neck, and smooths his palm over the now-protruding swell of his stomach.

"Love you," he says, reaching to touch Kurt's cock as Kurt touches his. "How is the little one?"

"We agreed; no baby talk when we're hard."

Blaine smiles, buries his mouth against the sweet spot below Kurt's ear. "So we did."

Kurt slides half onto his back, drawing Blaine's right leg over his torso. His hand is finally warm. He begins stroking in earnest, kissing Blaine's parted lips as they pant against each other's faces and Blaine's legs tremble with simple pleasure.

When Kurt doesn't stop as he gets close he whines, his hips twitching. "A-almost there." He tilts his head down, blatantly enjoying the view of his cock thick and hard in Kurt's pale hand, the head tight and the slit gaping as he inches toward his orgasm. 

Kurt whispers into the tense silence, "Want to come on my belly?"

Blaine's balls tighten up, and he groans. "Oh, god."

"Go ahead, it's alright. I know you want to."

The sight of Kurt's cock against his round belly, hard and curved and flushed dark pink, is more than enough. Blaine whimpers into Kurt's hair as he comes, his hips snapping, painting white stripes all over the dome of Kurt's stomach, over his bellybutton, getting it caught in the hair below and some even falling on Kurt's cock.

"God," he gasps, rubbing the head of his cock through the mess, feeling it slick and wet and so much. "Look at you." It's all over them, shining in the low lamplight over Kurt's belly especially.

Kurt kisses his ear, and he can feel Kurt grin. "Mm, you like that?"

"Y-yes."

"This really affects you, doesn't it? Me growing round and big with your child?" Kurt asks, kissing down Blaine's collarbone as he rolls over on top of him.

Blaine flushes hot down the back of his neck. He can't stop staring, in awe of his beautiful husband, his tunic wrinkled around his waist and his cock tenting the front of it just beneath that gorgeous swollen belly.

"Does that bother you?" he asks, licking his lips.

"No. I like it," Kurt rasps, dragging the underside of his cock up and down Blaine's flat stomach, and then across his hip. "I like anything that gets you stiff as a board. Do you think we're odd?"

"A little?" he says, so distracted that he doesn't even notice Kurt opening a small vial of lotion and coating his fingers. "But it doesn't bother me."

"All day, I've just—the way that you straddle your horse, the way that you look in those riding leathers," Kurt says, bending to kiss him. "I need more."

Chest hitching, Blaine gives over to the sensation of Kurt's slick fingers dipping in between his cheeks. He's half-hard again, and Kurt's cock is pulsing visibly. Kurt holds him open and rubs the soft skin around his rim, and then finally lets his fingertips settle against it, press in, and oh god, Blaine's ass is already swallowing them, he's so ready, and so hungry for it.

"Touch—touch my nipples? Please, they're aching," Kurt breathes.

Kurt's nipples are hard and red and swollen, and Blaine's mouth fills with saliva so quickly at the request that he's almost drooling when he opens his mouth over the left one. Kurt groans, leans forward on his knees, and drags Blaine's ass up and onto his thighs.

"God," he groans, twisting against Blaine's mouth. "Can I go inside? Need you around me."

"Yes, yes, love, please."

"Oh my god," Kurt whines, and pushes in with one slow, slick thrust. "So tight."

Blaine can't breathe bending like this, so he stops suckling, pulls back with a wet slurp and stares wide-eyed at the bruises that he's left in mouth-shaped rings all around Kurt's nipples.

"Twist them. Pull them, d-don't care, just, something."

They lose balance, then, Blaine bending his legs and spreading them out on either side of his body to get Kurt as deep as he can. Kurt is big, and they hadn't taken the time, so it burns, but the burn feels good. Kurt's puffy, leaking nipples are dribbling all over his fingers. He pulls on them and pinches them while Kurt ruts in and out of him, making the less-than-perfectly-made bed beneath them squeak and slam into the wall rhythmically.

The entire group must know exactly what they're doing, and being aware of this makes Blaine desperate to come again.

He places frantic, off-centered licks and nibbles anywhere that he can reach around and on those pointed, aroused nubs, until Kurt is literally crying, tears of too much pleasure-pain streaking down his cheeks. Blaine grips the puffy mounds of flesh and squeezes them in time, pinching Kurt's nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Kurt's rocking sends not only his cock in and out of Blaine's ass, but Blaine's fingers yanking back and forth on his nipples as well.

Kurt's face is a wash of agonized satisfaction. Blaine groans at the deep stab of his cock and then, suddenly, Kurt grabs the headboard with one hand and rides Blaine up the mattress, shouting and cursing as he comes, his balls clenching and relaxing against Blaine's ass. When Kurt moves next, Blaine can feel the mess inside.

Kurt's hard, round belly quivers and sags against Blaine's flat stomach, pressing Blaine down into the bed. Blaine runs a sticky hand down his side. His nipples are dripping onto Blaine's chest, little plop-plops of off-white, thin, chalky milk. 

Panting, Kurt's cock shrinking inside of him, Blaine leans up and licks over one nipple, and then the other, catching the nutty milk on his tongue. When he closes his lips and hollows his cheeks, he's rewarded with warm trickles of it, and his cock throbs on his belly at the feel of it, at the fact that he's taking this nourishment right from Kurt's pert little chest.

"Blaine," Kurt moans, twitching inside of him, just stiff enough to remain, as he suckles from each nipple until the milk stops and they're just hard flesh, swollen and hot against his tongue.

Kurt's oily fingers fumble between them, find his cock and stroke it. They don't speak, but Blaine grips that keen edge and holds on, biting Kurt's nipples and then soothing them with long, slow licks while Kurt's hand jacks his cock so fast that his fist is a blur. 

He can't believe he's so close, so hard again, this soon, when Kurt isn't, and it isn't long before he's pulsing, coming almost dry in Kurt's fist, his legs around Kurt's hips.

"God, stop, stop, too much," he cries, and Kurt lets him go as he lets Kurt go, releasing the spit-soaked, bruised mess that his chest has become with a bitten off noise. "Look at what I did to you. I'm sorry."

Kurt laughs. "Felt amazing." He winces. "Uh, regretting it now, but at the time—"

"Let me put the salve on and wrap them?"

Kurt nods. "In my bag."

They part to use their bathing cloths to clean off, and return to bed with the soft linen wrapping and the salve that Kurt uses when his nipples bother him too much. Blaine takes his time applying it, and then wraps Kurt's torso up snugly.

Kurt's eyelids flutter in relief. "That feels so good, thank you."

There's also a lotion that he rubs into his belly every night, and Blaine works that in for him before helping him back into his tunic.

Blaine tugs the blankets up around them. The room is very warm now, so there isn't any need to go for the thick socks and pants that they often wear when sleeping on the road.

It's easier now for Blaine to be the big spoon and he does, winding an arm around Kurt's waist and settling his hand on Kurt's pregnant belly. He strokes the curve of it as he drifts into sleep, hoping that their little one is resting as comfortably as they are tonight.

 

*

 

After completing a two week circuit of nearby work installations, they come home to find the compound bustling, and it's a wonderful feeling.

Kurt and Blaine enter the house in high spirits, but the moment that they have their outerwear off, they know that something is wrong. Trent and David are waiting for them at the base of the central staircase, and from there they're immediately swept off to Blaine's parents' chambers.

For a moment, Blaine panics, but Trent grips his arm and gives him a brief shake of his head. 

"No, Blaine. They're fine."

Blaine's heart stops knocking against the inside of his chest quite so violently. Kurt's hand lands on the small of his back, and he feels himself begin to breathe again.

"What's going on?" Kurt asks, as the doors close behind them.

Blaine's parents are propped up on lounges beside a dining table that bears still-warm food.

Anita, her voice scratchier than it ever had been before she fell ill, lifts her hand and says, "Sit. Eat. There is something that we need to discuss."

"Have we lost someone?" Blaine asks, sitting down but not reaching for anything. Kurt pushes a plate of food under his nose, and he begins to eat mechanically. Trent and David hover near his parents, and Blaine finally notices the paper in David's hand.

Jon takes the paper, as well as a breath, and leans forward, speaking low and fast. "We have waited almost a full year now for a response from the Crawfords of Essex, explaining to us why they did not attend your wedding." He hands the letter across the table, and Blaine and Kurt lean over it. "They write that their family has suffered great losses due to a disease that struck their house these two seasons past. The only remaining primary family members are Walter and his two sons, Adam and Colton, younger and older, respectively. They apologize for the lapse in communication and their absence at the wedding. They request that, since so much time has passed and so much talk has been missed, we send one of our own primary family members to mend ties and renegotiate trade agreements."

"How did this come through? The mail isn't even up and running yet," Kurt says.

"They sent a driver on a snow vehicle. She was gone before we even offered her a hot drink."

"She didn't wait for a response? What was the point of sending her, then?"

David clears his throat. "It isn't unheard of. They will simply expect you."

"It has happened before. They are odd ducks," Anita says.

"Well—once the roads are clear, Blaine and I will go," Kurt says, after a pause.

"Kurt," Blaine says, touching his hand. "By that time, you'll be within that two month emergency surgery window."

Kurt stares at him, then at the others, and his look darkens. "You would go alone?"

"I don't want to, of course not, but—"

"Your mother and I can be transported," Jon says.

Blaine's pulse picks up, fear tripping through his chest like wildfire. "No. Absolutely not. Too much moisture or a cool night and you'd fall ill again. You can't be on the road. It's two weeks at best to the Essex compound by transport, a month if you encounter bad weather or blocked roads. I won't risk your lives just so that Walter Crawford can make nice in person."

"Is there anyone else?" Kurt asks. "We've suffered disease, too. Why can't we make excuses and send a representative, at least until I am able to go?" 

"Impossible," Anita says, with a sigh. "Their absence at your wedding was an offense. That they didn't write to excuse it before the weather closed the roads was an offense. But they have a valid reason, and they are extending a generous apology. To respond with anything less than the expected cordiality and custom in a certain time frame would be a much larger insult on our part."

Blaine's head is throbbing. 

He's worried, tired from traveling, and he hates the tension on Kurt's face because he knows that it's concealing fear and concern, and he wants to make that better, but he can't. 

Trent is looking at him oddly, and David is silent.

More than anything, he does not want to be on the road with Kurt so close to coming to term. The birth of their child is not something that he wants to miss, and Kurt needs him to be there.

But the Crawfords are their source of food, the family that controls the miles and miles of temperature shields that enable them to grow crops and raise livestock on a massive scale all year round, and without that trade agreement all but a fourth of Westerville's population would starve within a year. He can't make this decision with his heart, as much as he'd like to.

"I'll take Gregory and a few pages," he says, decisively. He squeezes Kurt's hand. "I'll take our best transports, and send scouts ahead to make sure that the roads are clear. I'll be back within six weeks, I promise you."

Kurt swallows heavily and stands, which takes a moment longer now that his belly is distended. He puts a hand on his back, and wets his lips. 

"Excuse me," he says, and walks out of the room.

Blaine flinches when the door clicks shut. Everyone is looking at him.

Jon sighs. "You're right, son. And he knows it."

"I have to speak to him. I have to make him understand," Blaine says, standing. He looks at Trent and David. "Come with me, please." He stops briefly to drop a kiss on both of his parents' heads and then, once he's alone with Trent and David in the hallway, continues, "I need you to look after them. They'll try to overcompensate with me gone and Kurt in repose when he isn't managing to get by at work with Anna's help, and god knows Kurt will be pushing himself. He can handle it; I trust him to know where his limits are, but please keep an eye on him, just in case."

Outside of their chambers, Blaine claps Trent and David's shoulders, and they give him a nod before leaving him alone before the doors. He squares his shoulders, takes a breath, and enters. 

Kurt is in the nursery, which is in the initial stages of construction, its walls and floors covered in rough-sculpted shapes of tree trunks and limbs, the ceiling hanging with tarp, sawdust on the floor and drapes over the windows. 

In the corner there's a rocking chair, and Kurt has uncovered it to sit in it. It's beautiful, stained dark wood with deep forest green cushions. He's sitting with his hands over his belly, the chair swaying beneath him. It's so well made that it doesn't even creak.

Blaine can't breathe, watching him sit so quietly there, still and staring off into space, his lean face looking twenty years older than it actually is.

Blaine's entire speech dissolves in his head and he sighs, drops to his knees in front of the chair and says, "I am sorry."

Up close, he can see that the rocking chairs' back and legs are carved to look like branches, full of curlicues, scraped to mimic bark on the surface, complete with natural knots and carved bugs and birds. It's truly beautiful.

Kurt looks tired and resigned.

"No," he says, rubbing his fingers over his stomach. "No, I—you were right, in there." His eyelids flutter, and Blaine can see the telltale ticks in his facial muscles that let him know Kurt is trying not to cry, to not even allow his eyes to glaze over. "I'm a mess today."

Blaine puts his head in Kurt's lap—well, on his thighs, because his lap is mostly taken up by the belly, now. "I don't want to be anywhere but with you. If we had any other choice—"

"I know," Kurt says, reaching down to stroke his hair. "And I know I'm being stupid. I just don't want you to go."

Blaine closes his eyes and burrows deeper into Kurt's robes, savoring the warmth and strength that he finds there, and allowing it to give him strength, too. "I promise that I will be back well before you go to the hospital."

"I believe you, Blaine. I do."

But there's something in those beautiful blue-green eyes that makes Blaine's stomach hurt, and he isn't sure why.

 

*

 

Once the compound is fully operational again, Kurt makes an appointment with Doctor Mereen at the hospital. It's been a long time since they've had the use of the hospital equipment versus the portable kind, and even though there isn't much more that they can do in terms of judging the baby's health, they can use the better imaging tool to try and see the baby's sex for the first time.

This test takes place in a larger room. The scanning tool here is a bigger, more complicated bar that's fixed on rollers above the exam table. It takes more time for the image to develop, but when it finally takes shape above the table and Doctor Mereen taps the rendering to bring Kurt's organ into focus—it's nearly three feet across, blown up this way—they both gasp aloud.

They have been fretting all morning, worried that the scan would show something negative, but—

It's a baby. It's a weirdly-shifting curled up person-shaped thing, but it's a baby. Their baby.

Kurt, for his part, is almost too moved to react. What can he say to do the moment justice? He doesn't have the words, he doesn't have the poise, and he's just—overwhelmed. That is his and Blaine's child, their family, their future, all in one grainy image, floating in flickering blue light, throwing shadows and shapes across the white hospital walls.

Blaine buries his face in his hands, leans into Kurt's naked side and does Kurt's crying for him. 

"Is everything as it should be?" Kurt asks.

"Yes," she says, pointing to the image. "The growth is coming along as we predicted, and the organ is expanding correctly in response. I see some rigidity in the outer lining, which tells me that we may want to plan for a shorter gestation. We'll narrow the window as we get closer, but other than that, I feel that our original forecast should be accurate."

Blaine scrubs at his eyes and says, his voice breaking, "Look at the little fingers and toes."

Kurt laughs. "You can even see the eyebrows—oh, god, but I can't tell the shape of them just yet. Your eyebrows simply won't do if this baby has my bone structure."

"Kurt!" Blaine chides, but he's smiling.

"I'm just saying what we're all thinking."

"That's debatable, darling."

Kurt smiles—he got Blaine to stop crying, so he considers this a win.

Since no one is acknowledging the elephant in the room, he finally asks, "Can you tell the sex?"

She smiles politely, and uses her fingers to manipulate the image. 

It takes several rotations before the baby is positioned correctly. The images flickers, its layers smeared by the constant shifting—it's not easy to tell what is what, despite the occasional teasing flicker of a clear view which bleed into blurs before Kurt's eyes can sort them out. In fact, he has no idea what she has seen that he hasn't when she takes her pointer and circles a vague shape. 

"You see this here, if I can freeze—" She touches a button on the panel, and the image goes still.

They squint, and look at each other, and squint again, and Kurt can sort of make it out.

"I see, I think, that's—right there?" Blaine asks, tilting his head.

Before she even says it, Blaine's eyes are going wet again.

Kurt thinks that he's prepared.

"It's a boy," Blaine breathes.

"It's a boy," she confirms.

Kurt isn't prepared.

He can't stop the inhaled sob when it happens. He can't stop the hitches that make his chest contract and release. He can't stop the tears that streak down his cheeks. He can't control the emotion that barrels through him at the knowledge of it, at the sight of it, at proof of it.

_Son._

_My son, Blaine's son, our son._

_Our son._

Blaine is holding his hand, and then gripping his shoulders, clumsily grasping him in a sideways embrace, and they're both crying.

Doctor Mereen shakes their hands—even she is beaming—and then says, "I'll give you some time." 

She exits the room.

The image remains, but it's moving again, the twitchy swim of their child in his cushy, liquid-filled home.

"I didn't mean what I said before, about the eyebrows," Kurt says, snuffling, when he can speak again. "Not really."

Blaine laughs hysterically, allowing a moment to pass before he sits on the table beside Kurt, lacing their hands. "Look at him. He's already perfect."

"I will remind you of that when he's wailing and keeping us up all night and putting out feces like it is his only purpose in life," Kurt says, his lips quirking.

"He'll still be perfect," Blaine says, practically glowing.

Another pause, and Kurt finally answers, a content smile on his lips as the blue of the imagining scan glows over his pale features, "You may be right about that."

 

*

 

The month before Blaine is set to make his journey to Essex, they take advantage of their teams and try to spend as much time together as possible. 

Kurt never thought that he'd dread the coming of good weather and clear roads, but he passes windows now with fretful glances at the ever-melting snow and ice, at the reemergence of gravel and hard-packed dirt with a sigh, and wishes that the cold might last a little bit longer.

Kurt's moods swim from dark to light so quickly now that he almost can't stand his own company. He is grateful that Blaine is such a patient, giving man, so easy to be around when he's in tune with Kurt's moods (he isn't always, but they have become very good at forgiving each other).

Most mornings Kurt wakes up to Blaine's lips on his naked belly, or sometimes his ear, and always at the very least to his questing hands, his face stretched into a grin.

"Can you hear the ocean?" Kurt asks, when he finds Blaine listening at the dome of his belly.

"No, but I think that you might have gas," he'll joke, making a face, and Kurt will swat him with pillows until he goes to fetch their breakfast and bring it back to bed.

Not every morning is as innocent.

Kurt finds himself on his back often now, as it is the easiest position for him, with his legs hooked over Blaine's arms, grasping the pillows above his head and drowning in the simple, lazy pleasure of being full before the sun creeps over the floorboards. He's grown used to his hard cock tapping his belly to the rhythm of Blaine's thrusts, to timing his pleasure with Blaine's when Blaine's grunts reach a certain tempo, hinting at the approach of his own orgasm, to the wet noise of Blaine's hand stroking his cock as Blaine pistons in and out of him just the way that he likes.

The reverse proves to be a challenge, until Blaine drags him back to their rooms one afternoon with an urgent nip to his ear, pushes his pants down and his tunic up, straddles his hips and sits down on his cock, pressing him back until his belly rises between them like a fleshy hill.

Kurt barely lasts long enough to allow Blaine the time to stroke himself to completion over Kurt's belly, with a desperate groan and Kurt's name on his lips. Blaine comes down, panting, rubbing his come into the dry, warm, stretched skin over Kurt's belly with trembling fingers before sliding in between Kurt's legs to swallow his cock until he finds his own satisfaction.

Aside from very pleasurable and creative sex, they spend a lot more time than usual simply being close. They sleep curled together, they hold hands whether they are alone or in public, and they stop to embrace in the hallways even if they are busy. Blaine's hands are never far from his belly, nor are his eyes, which linger with fondness and interest and love and lust, until Kurt simply loses himself in the attention, content to be desired and adored.

 

*

 

The morning that Blaine leaves, it's cold, but not cold enough to delay his departure. 

He'd wanted dismal weather to mirror his mood, but it's offensively sunny out. At least the sun takes the edge off of the chill as he walks over muddy gravel to get to Kurt's garden. 

He's already dressed to leave, in riding leathers and a warm cloak, his hair plastered down because he knows that he won't get to fuss with it for a day or two.

Kurt is sitting beside his reflecting pool, wearing a pair of pants and a fitted tunic, both let out at the waist but cut well enough to show off his lean frame as well as the jut of his belly. Blaine loves when he doesn't hide himself under loose tunics and work robes. 

Blaine stops at the edge of the garden and then steps inside, the shield rippling around him.

Kurt looks up, shakes water droplets from his fingertips, and smiles. He looks a little chalky around the eyes and mouth. Blaine knows that he'd had trouble sleeping last night, because his flip-flopping had kept Blaine awake, as well.

Blaine would accept sleepless nights from now until next year if it meant that he could stay home with Kurt and not run this ridiculous errand.

As if reading his thoughts, Kurt comments, "Our son kept me awake last night."

"I noticed," Blaine says, smiling and reaching out to put his hands on Kurt's stomach. Kurt burrows into his arms. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful," Kurt admits, his mouth twitching. "Currently, I blame you. You were an integral part of the inception of this problem."

Blaine smiles, kissing Kurt's chapped lips with great pleasure. "I do apologize."

"I don't want to go to bed alone tonight," Kurt says, after a loaded pause, his breath fanning warm over Blaine's mouth.

Blaine's hands tighten against his back. "Nor I. I don't want to leave you, Kurt—"

Kurt kisses him hard and fast, gripping the back of his neck, not allowing him to finish his thought. His curls his arms around Kurt's waist, his large belly in between them, and lets himself be kissed until his head is light and his breathing short.

"Six weeks," Kurt says. "You promised. Six weeks and no longer. Send word when you arrive; I don't care about the delay, I just want to know that you've arrived safely."

"I promise," Blaine says, holding on tight. He drops to one knee and presses his cheek against Kurt's belly, repeating to his son, "I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

Kurt writes to his dad as soon as the mail service begins running again. 

He does so with regret, because he's too close to term now to travel (doctor's orders, and ones that he is not pleased with) to deliver the news in Lima. He asks his dad, hating to be vague, and hating to do this without Blaine beside him, to come to the compound with Carole, if possible, (he knows that asking for Finn as well would be impossible) for a visit. He can't bring himself to make the announcement in a letter, and though he hates summoning his family, there's no other way.

In person, it's hardly a thing that needs to be announced. 

When he meets his dad and Carole in the dining hall after they arrive, Carole lets out a gasp and puts her hands over her mouth and Burt falls back down into the seat beneath him, his hands clutching the chair's arms.

Kurt is wearing a simple pair of pants and a sleeveless tunic, and his belly in these form-fitting clothes could not be more obvious. He sits between Burt and Carole at the table, and is instantly embraced on either side, surrounded by the faint smell of home.

Burt just holds him, silently and for a long while, and Carole keeps reaching up to swipe her silent tears away. Kurt lets them touch him as he hasn't wanted anyone but Blaine to, allows them to press their fingers to his belly and stroke the cloth over its distended shape.

Finally, when their tears are under control and his dad has stopped shaking, he sits up, holding one of their hands in each of his.

"How are you? How is the baby?" Burt asks, his eyes filled with tears.

"We're both fine. We would be better if Blaine were home, but he was forced to attend to a diplomatic issue in Essex."

"He'll be home soon?" Carole asks.

"That was the goal of having him leave as quickly as he did." 

Kurt's family isn't aware of the details of that situation, and he doesn't feel that they need to be.

Burt fidgets. "You're sure that everything is okay? You're seeing the doctor regularly?"

Kurt smiles, nodding. "The scans look normal and my organ is functioning well, aside from a few random hormone misfires. Thankfully none of those have been related to core pregnancy functions." He sighs. "I'm sorry that Blaine isn't here to share this with us. And I'm sorry that I wasn't able to tell you as soon as it happened, but I conceived right at the start of Winter."

They smile knowingly. Winter conception is so common that it's a joke in their world, the source of many lewd sayings and songs that he now understands the meaning of.

He can't help but blush—he isn't embarrassed, but what runs through his head at that look is a barrage of memories of Blaine taking him in every position imaginable. Arousal spikes have been less common as of late, but he doesn't need pregnancy hormones to make him desperate for his husband's touch. He misses Blaine so much that it's like a physical pain.

Burt chuckles, and says, "No need to embarrass him any further, honey. Look at that blush."

"Dad," he whines.

"I knew that you'd get it done fast," Burt says. "Once you put your mind to something, nothing stops you. Now—just get through the rest of it without giving your old man a heart attack, okay?"

"That's the plan," he says.

Burt and Carole spend a week on compound, visiting with Blaine's parents—all five of them plus Trent and David have a lovely dinner, with Sam winding through their legs in search of table scraps—and enjoying a rest of their own. They celebrate the pregnancy, Burt sharing stories of Kurt's childhood and Carole stories of Finn's, to everyone's amusement.

When Kurt says goodbye to them beside their transport on the front driveway, they hug him in turn and he holds on longer than he usually would. He's going to miss them; the company had been wonderful in Blaine's absence, and he's not eager to see them go.

Just before they leave, he says, "You never asked about the baby's sex."

Kurt and Blaine have kept that detail entirely to themselves thus far, but Kurt wants to tell his dad more than anything, and is sure that Blaine wouldn't mind him doing so.

Burt smiles. "That's yours to enjoy. Not everyone likes to say, before the birth."

"I'm not a superstitious sort, Dad, you know that," Kurt says, smiling and rolling his eyes fondly. Still, his heart pounds faster as he says, "It's a boy."

Burt's smile morphs into a grin. "You keep my grandson safe, you hear?

 

*

 

Kurt finds himself obsessively following the construction and decoration of the nursery, even though he knows that it's frowned upon, and that Blaine's parents have everything under control.

It's one of the only after-work activities that he has to completely distract himself from the fact that it's been a month and Blaine's message confirming his arrival in Essex has yet to arrive. He knows that it's due any day—if the conditions of both Blaine's and the message carrier's journey were optimal—and that he's overreacting, but he can't help worrying.

So he watches the woodworkers and painters and textile experts come and go, making deliveries and installations and alterations, and the beautiful forest that exists just outside of their door takes shape within the nursery. Birds and animals and flowers dot the landscape. Furniture is delivered—bassinets and cribs and rocking chairs and changing tables and rugs—until the room is a riot of playful colors and exciting new things for him to arrange.

He has his own collection of toys and clothes that he's been making by hand for some time now, and at every free moment he adds to it, forcing his fingers over knitting and sewing needles, metal working and soldering tools, and woodcarving knives to create unique things for their son.

A week passes, and then another, and his worry deepens.

Though it's increasingly sunny outside, a darkness takes up residence inside of the manor.

When he can't take it anymore, he decides that he is going to send someone who he trusts to Essex, to make sure that everything is alright. He asks Trent's advice on the matter, and Trent takes him to Blaine's parents, who tell him that sending a messenger would be an insult to the Crawfords; an implication of mistrust that they can't afford to show.

Frustrated, Kurt asks them, how long they are supposed to wait? They tell him to have patience.

His heart tells him that something is wrong.

His logic tells him that he is co-leader, technically leader in Blaine's absence, and that he should be making these decisions himself if he feels that they are necessary ones. But he is still reliant on his predecessor's experience and knowledge of local customs, and if he makes a mistake that costs them their food trade agreements...

He can't trust himself, not entirely, not yet, not in this, and he knows it, and it makes him angry.

Only a few days after this frustrating conversation, he's interrupted in the middle of seeing village representatives by Trent, who asks for his presence in one of the smaller meeting rooms. Anna makes his excuses and takes his seat, and he walks—waddles, really, as he hasn't gotten used to the change in his center of gravity yet—down the hall.

Blaine's parents are huddled together in chairs at the table, and the moment that Kurt enters, Trent shuts and locks the door behind them. 

David has one hand on either of Blaine's parents' shoulders.

Kurt immediately assumes the absolute worse and begins to shake his head, his throat swelling with rage and denial.

"No, Kurt," Trent rushes to say, guiding him into a chair, which he takes thoughtlessly. "But—it isn't good news." Trent looks positively ashen, and Kurt can tell that he's been crying. "We've only known for perhaps half an hour."

Kurt looks at Blaine's parents, his eyes cold and narrowed. He wants to open his mouth and blame them and he doesn't even know what's going on yet, but if their diplomacy has put Blaine in danger, he has no idea what he'll do or say next. He only knows that it won't be kind.

"Gregory returned, on horseback, near-dead, carrying a message from the Crawfords," Trent says, his voice trembling.

Kurt's mind goes completely blank, and his heart begins to race.

And then the anger that he had predicted comes.

 _No._

_No, no, no._

"They killed Blaine's pages, and only allowed Gregory to live to carry the message back," Anita says, her words as empty as the look on her face. "They've taken Blaine prisoner. They—they want our research. All of it. Every paper, lab report, schematic, and drawing. In exchange for Blaine's life." She animates suddenly, her anger flaring, throwing the paper across the table and taking half of the cups and plates on it with a sweep of her arm. "They're weaponizing. Militarizing. They've been gathering the resources for years. They intend to conquer the other provinces. With our technology, they intend to build weapons of war. In combination with those weapons, with control over most of the food production in our world, they could effortlessly starve the provinces into submission. They could actually succeed."

Kurt's chest begins heaving. He stands, shakily, his eyes burning, his skin tight and cold, and feels Trent move behind him to reach for his elbow. He jerks it away.

"Don't touch me," he snarls, spinning to face them. "We never should have let him go. It stunk from the start and I—I let him go. I let him go. But you insisted. You allowed no alternative plan. This is your fault!"

"Kurt—" Trent begins.

"Our people haven't known battle or weapons or war for almost a thousand years. We are not prepared. We have no soldiers, and no weapons but the ones that we use to hunt—these things are the greatest taboo that our world has," Jon says.

Kurt feels the room tilt. He can't breathe, his chest hurts, and he almost falls back into his chair before Trent helps lower him into it.

They must do something. 

They must rescue Blaine without giving the Crawfords what they're demanding.

They must stop these ridiculous plans from unfolding.

"We'll take a force to Essex, and demand an audience. They want what we have. Tell them that we're willing to work with them, if they will guarantee Blaine's safety and release. And once we're there, we can figure out a way to subvert their plans."

"What force, Kurt? We can't spare a group of people large enough, even if we had the time and the resources to train and arm them, which we don't," Jon says.

"You're telling me that, in all these generations, not a single offensive capability has been discussed?" he asks, his voice going shrill. He can't believe what he's hearing.

"No, there hasn't," Anita says, staring at the wreckage on the table. "War nearly destroyed us. It has always been the one thing that we swore never to engage in again. The one thing that we have all agreed on. Generation after generation—always the same understanding."

"Then what do we do?" he demands. "We can't leave Blaine with these people."

"We may have to capitulate," Jon says, his face blank and his voice flat. "If only to ensure the safety of our people and Blaine's return."

"That is insane," Kurt hisses. "Once they have weapons, they'll use them on us. All you would gain from giving over now is a temporary peace, and we'll have lost our bargaining power."

He looks into their faces then and sees something that scares him even more than what's happening—they're terrified. They're drifting. They have no idea of what to do.

The question, then, is—what is Kurt going to do?

Westerville is his to protect, as much as it is Blaine's. In this room, at this moment, sits the concentration of power in its ruling family, and yet—he is the only one who is poised to act. He can sense it in their silence and defeated body language. David looks blank, and Blaine's parents like lost children. Only Trent is openly distraught, and that is because his heart is with Blaine, who is in danger.

"We must give this logical thought," Jon says, still looking blank. "At least a day or two, to allow fear and anger to pass, before we decide what to do."

They don't have a day or two. Every minute that they waste now is another minute that Blaine spends in the hands of people who would use his life as a bargaining chip.

Kurt rises. Blaine's parents need Trent—he is the closest thing that they have to a second son—and so it's David who Kurt looks to.

"David? Would you walk me back to my rooms, please? I'm not feeling well."

"Of course," David says, rushing to take his arm.

The moment that they are alone in Kurt and Blaine's rooms, Kurt turns on David and presses him into a chair. "Tell me what you know. Everything."

There isn't much to tell that's new, but David refreshes Kurt's knowledge of the Crawfords. 

They've been the ruling family in Essex as long as the Andersons have been in Westerville. They were a large family until recently. They've been in trade agreement with the Andersons since the start, and it's only in the last generation that things have taken a turn for the awkward, and for reasons unknown. Their territory is easily four times the size of Westerville, because three quarters of it are comprised of temperature shielded and soil converted crops and livestock pens and fields. Until today, no one had had any idea that they have been working on converting their agricultural technology to military technology.

"In your opinion," Kurt asks, "do they mean what they say? Will they hurt Blaine if we don't give them what they want?"

David hesitates and then says, looking aside, "I believe so."

"Can we get anything out of Gregory?" Kurt asks. He knows it's insensitive, but he has to ask.

"He's unconscious, and likely to remain so," David answers.

Kurt sits at the table, his legs giving out. 

He wishes that he could have a glass of wine, but that isn't possible, for obvious reasons. He realizes that he's running mental circles in lieu of allowing himself to have a breakdown over Blaine being in danger, but that seems like a good thing, at the moment.

He thinks. 

He runs through, in his head, every employee, every trained representative, every manager, every scientist, every researcher that he can think of that they have at their disposal, anyone who could go, could speak for their family, for their people, for their province. But in their world, excess numbers of qualified people simply don't exist, and without the family connection, no one he sent would hold any authority in the Crawfords' eyes.

Blaine's parents' mobility is still almost non-existent. Kurt is the only politically-trained family member that they have. Still, his education is missing huge gaps, and he couldn't go alone. But who to bring? Blaine's parents would fall to pieces without Trent in Kurt's absence, Anna would most definitely be needed if Kurt were to go, and David—

_David._

Kurt lifts his head. 

The idea strikes and then takes root. It's risky, but it may be the only way.

"You're familiar with our relationship with the Crawfords," he says, almost questioning. "You were heavily involved in the last trade agreement negotiation."

David swallows. "Uh, yes."

"With my presence, you could safely navigate the situation, at least far enough to get us an audience without the risk of violence. You have the knowledge, and I have the authority."

David hesitates. "You would leave Westerville without a leader?"

"I will name Anna co-leader for the duration of my absence. She's capable and well-respected. Blaine's parents may be physically weakened but they are well enough to guide her, and Trent will help validate the appointment." Kurt takes a breath. "When we've gone, I will have private word sent to Lucy, as well. Though her family hasn't been called on to advise politically for a while, I would like her to keep an eye on things. We may need her if things go badly and, in any case, she'll want to record what is happening."

David is staring at him as if he's insane, and maybe he is.

"Just the two of us?" David asks, looking shaken.

Kurt thinks about the pages who Blaine had taken with him. "Just the two of us. One transport, and a lot of supplies. I'm decent with a knife as well as a bow and arrow. We'll make good time." 

"Blaine's parents will never approve of this," David says, shaking his head. "Trent will tie you to your bed. You're risking coming to term far from home. The Crawfords' medical resources are nowhere near as good as ours, and that's assuming you don't need to give birth on the road."

"There is time," Kurt says, thinking quickly. "There is time, if we leave tomorrow, if we do this now, before I even let anyone know that I'm doing it..."

"You—you mean to do this without approval?"

He sets his jaw, and thinks of Blaine, and of their unborn child, and of their people. He can't let the Crawfords do this, and in order to stop them he must handle this in person, just as Blaine went to do—that much was and is still necessary. 

"Yes," he says, "I do. Make the arrangements, please. And—send someone to tell Doctor Mereen that I must see her sometime today, whenever she can find the time."

Doctor Mereen is not pleased to have her schedule rearranged, but she manages to see Kurt just after dark, and the plea in his voice is enough to silence her before she begins asking questions that he can't answer. She tells him that he has three months at best, and two at worst. She tells him that he's healthy and strong, and that his organ and the baby are doing well.

He has no idea when he'll return. It may take months to accomplish his goal. It may take weeks, or days. It may never happen, and if so—well. 

They are all in trouble, and his will be the least of it.

He has no other choice. This is his duty, and he will see it through to whatever end.

 

*

 

Trying to pack and leave the manor unobserved is nearly impossible. 

Finally, Kurt fakes a migraine, and manages to get two hours to himself. He packs simple, sturdy clothing, a belt that holds two good daggers, and the bow and arrow and quiver that his dad had given him for his twelfth birthday. He packs a copy of the current trade agreement between the Andersons and the Crawfords. He packs a sheaf of drawings and schematics that he intends to tease the Crawfords with—none complete and most with technical flaws that would render anything built according to their specifications useless, but he needs to flash something to get their attention and buy himself time.

David handles everything else—food, water, camping equipment, a portable medical kit, maps, replacement parts for the transport, blankets, and the like. 

From the moment that they begin this process, Kurt falls into a lull where things aren't quite real around him. His ears ring. He feels as if he's moving through sludge instead of normal space, with blinders on instead of seeing everything around him. Nothing feels the same.

He writes very brief notes of explanation—to Blaine's parents, to his dad, to Anna, to Trent, to Doctor Mereen, and to Lucy. He asks them to be patient, and to not send anyone after him. He confesses that he is fully aware of the risks that he is taking. He tells them what he needs them to do in his absence. He asks them to take care of each other. He tells them that he loves them.

Between David and himself, they manage to get everything done. They intend to leave under the cover of darkness, right after bedtime, so that they won't be missed until late tomorrow morning. By then, they should be far enough away to discourage any immediate chase. Kurt leaves the notes for his friends and family in open view on his made bed. When he doesn't take breakfast or show up for work, they will come to his room and the notes will be the first thing that they see.

The very last thing that he does is visit the nursery, which is almost complete.

He clasps his belly and stares at the beautiful greens and browns and splashes of rainbow color and feels tears rise behind his eyes—but he refuses to let them fall. Their baby being born healthy and whole means almost nothing if there is no safe world or family for him to be born into, and so he must do this first before he can worry about anything else.

He takes one of the smaller baby blankets from the crib. It's dark green with earth brown edges, stitched with a pattern of horses and transports in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. It's lovely. It's—them. He knows that it's silly to take it—it's not a necessity—but he does anyway, folding it into a small square and tucking it inside of his clothes.

Once he has said his goodbyes to their space and belongings, he dresses himself in a dark traveling cloak that covers him from head to toe. He flicks the hood up, gathers his satchels, and manages to use the serving stairs and passages to slip out of the back of the house unnoticed, with only one or two close calls.

There's an unused transport shed on the very edge of the property back here, and this is where he meets David, who is waiting with the packed vehicle and an anxious expression on his face, dressed much as Kurt is dressed.

"We need to go," he says, hustling Kurt into the passenger seat. "I was almost caught sneaking supplies, and I think one of the serving lads might have gone to his master."

"Okay," Kurt says. "Did you have trouble getting anything?"

"No, I managed. Strap in."

During the first six hours of travel, they pass Kurt's village, and it takes every bit of restraint that he possesses not to stop the transport and ask his dad for help. But he can't. This is his task. He turns away from the sight of the lights and the smoke of the hearths and the faint smell of oil, and lets David think that he's going to sleep instead.

It's cold after the sun goes down, but they don't stop for anything other than switching places. 

They drive for a full twenty four hours, until they are both too exhausted to keep their eyes open, and enjoy the luxury of a stop-over cabin the first time that they decide to turn the transport off. 

They fill the fuel tank and then park the vehicle deep in the trees, covering it with a tarp painted to look like brush cover. They can't light the hearth in the cabin, so they simply bundle up, plug in a corn oil powered space heater, crawl under a blanket, and share body heat on the single bed in the tiny cabin as morning breaks over the mountains.

Kurt would feel odd about curling up against another man if he weren't about to collapse.

"We can't do that again," David says, against the back of his neck. "You'll get weak."

"Mm," Kurt hums, his eyes sliding shut. "I know. Just had to put some distance—"

He's asleep before he finishes the sentence.

When he wakes up hours later, David has changed and is putting together a quick pot of stew made from dehydrated meat and stock cubes and water over a hot plate. It's bubbling away, and there are two water skins on the table. Kurt scrubs his hands over his eyes and hefts himself up to lean over the small table.

"There's warm water if you want to wash and change," David says, stirring the pot.

It's still too chilly to change outside. Kurt blushes as he quickly does his business in a corner of the one-room cabin, with his back to David. He knows that it's silly to feel bashful, but he can sense David watching him, and hurries through his quick wash and change of clothes. 

They eat in silence, refill their water skins, erase the traces of their occupation of the cabin, and get back into the transport. Kurt is determined to get to Essex as quickly as possible, so they gun the engine and don't talk much.

As the days go by, they settle into a sort of rhythm with each other, learning how to share space without things becoming tense. Kurt is forever aware of David's eyes on him when he thinks that he's being stealthy, and isn't quite sure what to make of it. Kurt has never been close with David, despite the years of chaperoning, always finding him a bit stiff, and their argument over Anna's appointment in lieu of David's half-brother's has always been a discordant note between them.

On one of the nights when they must camp in the woods, they huddle around the space heater in their tent, and Kurt decides that they might as well talk to pass the time.

"I never thanked you," he says, rubbing his hands back and forth over the puffs of warm air, "for dropping everything to come with me."

David doesn't smile, but he does nod. "You are my co-leader."

This doesn't satisfy Kurt, so he adds, "David. You were one of the first people who greeted me when I came to the compound. I know that we have had our differences, but I do want—I want us to be friends. I can't apologize for what happened with Luhae, because you were out of line, but I'd like to put the incident behind us."

David glances away, his brow furrowing, the light of their little lamp casting long shadows over his face. "It—it's long past. You did what you felt was best, and I—I support you in that. We—we are friends, Kurt. I am just not very good at showing it."

Smiling, Kurt pats his arm. "I'm glad. Thank you."

The journey is easier than Kurt had thought it would be. They have only one minor delay, a road flooded with snow melt that has softened the earth in the area so badly that several trees have fallen across the road. The way around, however, is not as long as he had feared it would be. 

Their supplies hold steady, they manage to find clean drinking water, and even though they begin to stink and spend their nights being eaten alive by insects, they make steady progress. 

There is no doubt that this trek is exhausting, but Kurt feels strong despite that. Because his organ is not made of exactly the same stuff as a natural womb, Kurt can't feel the baby's every movement, but when he is awake and active, Kurt can feel his son shift inside of him. It gives him strength, and drives him on.

He only wishes that Blaine were here to feel it, too.

 

*

 

Essex lies as a lower elevation, in a man-made valley of converted soil and temperature shielding. What remains in use today is a miniscule fraction of what it once was, but the same could be said of their population; the output of food and livestock that they produce is more than enough to feed everyone in their world.

Before they descend into the valley, Kurt asks David to stop the transport on a rise before the path. Once they take that road, they will be on Crawford land, and he isn't going to want to stop.

"I want to bathe, and change," he says. "Would you mind giving me some privacy?"

"Of course not. Go ahead. I'll keep a lookout," David says.

Kurt selects a simple but well-made work robe, and digs out the sash that bears his emblems from under the rest of his things. If he's going to do this, he has to look as well as act the part.

The stream that he finds to bathe in is chilly but it's deep and clean and free-running, spilling over a waterfall into the valley below. He takes his time, lathering and scrubbing. He feels exposed, but he knows that there are no people around; there are no signs of habitation along the cliffs.

When he's dry, he dresses carefully, and even styles his hair. It's only a day's ride from here to the compound, and he wants to be ready, should they make better time.

After his bath, he finds David leaning against the transport. David takes his arm and walks him up the incline, right to the edge of the cliff.

"Look," he says.

Kurt looks, and—oh. His breath catches. 

The sun is high over Essex, over its temperature shields as large as buildings and as far as the eye can see, their domes shimmering pale blue, almost white, in the sunlight, and within them—every crop and livestock animal imaginable, moving, breathing, and living, so many that Kurt can't count them. People and small machines mill about among the shields, hundreds of them, from a distance looking like ants swarming over a sea of jewels. It is awe-inspiring, and much prettier than he thought it would be. For a moment, he forgets his own troubles.

"Impressive, isn't it?" David asks, his lips quirking.

"It is," Kurt admits. His thoughts return to the task at hand. "Do they have security? Will we have to prove who we are to pass any checkpoints?" These sorts of things don't exist in Westerville, but with the recent changes, Kurt wouldn't be surprised if the Crawfords have posted security.

"Let me do the talking," David says, as they walk back to the transport.

"Will it be difficult to gain an audience with Walter?" 

"I don't believe so," David says, starting up the transport's engine.

 

*

 

They go over the plan as they drive toward the Essex compound. 

Kurt will present himself as the co-leader of Westerville, and attempt to use neutral language with the implication of cooperation until he can figure out just how well-armed or far along in their research the Crawfords are. Once he learns all that he can, using David as his eyes and ears in the house, he will then attempt to pawn off the unfinished schematics that he has brought in exchange for Blaine's return.

If they can please Walter with a sampling of what they have to offer, explain that they simply can't just hand over everything that easily, and perhaps the Crawfords might send one of their sons back with Kurt and Blaine to gather more, that might be enough to satisfy the man as well as put some of the power back into the Andersons' hands. If Kurt can convince Walter that they will bend and eventually yield, if he can get Blaine and one of Walter's sons onto their land...

At least then they would have a better bargaining position, and Blaine home in one piece.

It's a start. 

Kurt reminds himself that these two families have been allies for generations, and that deep down there must be some fondness still there on Walter's part, some tradition, some emotion that Kurt can play to, to remind him of their shared history and struggle.

He has to force himself to set aside the fact that Blaine is close. Blaine is somewhere in that house, and if things go as planned they might even be allowed to be physically together again soon. Kurt might be able to be in those beloved arms this very night, if—

If, if, if. 

He can't think this way. He has to focus on the task at hand.

The Crawford's compound is huge, but by now this comes as no surprise. 

The gates are impressive, and there are guards. It's such a strange sight, armed men and women, like something out of a history paper. Kurt has never seen the like in reality.

David looks at him, nods, and then trails him as they exit the car. 

Kurt strides calmly, with his chin up and his shoulders back. The guards gather around him, their hands on their weapon hilts.

"I am Kurt Hummel, co-leader of the Westerville province. I have come in accordance with the wishes of your leader, to discuss terms of trade."

The afternoon sun glints off of their metal-reinforced leather armor and their blades, and Kurt holds himself so still that his teeth hurt. His back is aching as it has since his belly had grown heavy, and he wants nothing more than to shift his legs to stretch them, but he doesn't.

The guards stare at him, and then one steps forward, a woman of average height and size with a fierce gaze and a short sword on either hip. She spits on the dirt at her feet.

"It's about bloody time," she says. "We've been out here cooking in these get-ups all day."

Kurt blinks. He doesn't understand what she means.

And then she looks at David, and says, "Let's get a move on. He ain't happy as it is."

Instant panic. 

Kurt takes a step, and then another, but David is on him before he can gain traction. The woman who had spoken rushes in and grabs his other arm. 

He kicks. He flails his arms, his hands balled into fists. He fights them, as best as he can.

But it isn't enough. There are too many of them.

David, his face a detached mask, puts a foul-smelling cloth over Kurt's mouth, and before Kurt can do anything more, his legs are folding beneath him, and his vision goes black.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: physical assault and verbal/psychological sexual harassment.

When Kurt wakes up, it takes him a moment to remember where he is and what had happened in front of the gates. 

He takes stock of himself from head to toe, very quickly, and finds that even though he's cuffed and bound to a chair by his wrists and ankles, he is otherwise physically unharmed. The chair that he's sitting in stands alone at the center of a vast hall. It's four times the size of the largest hall in Westerville, hung with tapestries, and the floors rushes are made of straw instead of pine. 

Across from him there is a dais, and on it two impressive thrones. The largest is occupied by a slim, older man with silvered blonde hair. The seat beside him is occupied by a young man who looks very much like him, with dark blonde hair and blue-gray eyes. Beside him, standing with his hands clasped in front of him, an even younger man, closer to Kurt's age, perhaps a few years older, with light brown hair but identical eyes. 

Off to the side of dais, practically hidden behind the guards from the gate, stands David.

Kurt lurches forward, heedless of the way that his bonds bite into his skin. 

"Traitor!" he growls. 

Walter Crawford, from his gilded perch, smirks. "Now, now. That isn't the way to begin, is it?"

Rage boils beneath Kurt's skin. "How dare you?" he spits, writhing, but the chair is bolted to the stones beneath it, and he isn't going anywhere.

David has betrayed them. 

He almost can't bear to gaze upon these people, who look no different than his own, elevated above the room as if they deserve to be there.

"Why, David?" he shouts, his voice breaking.

Walter puts up a hand, silencing David before he opens his mouth. "That is none of your concern, boy," he says, looking at Kurt. "It is enough to say that he has found his true path here in Essex." He flicks his hand. "Leave us, David."

Kurt whimpers, thrashing in David's direction as he flees the room.

"Calm yourself," Walter says, his deep voice booming through the hall. "You are unharmed. It could have gone worse for you."

Kurt bites his lips shut and tries to breathe. He does have to calm down, that much is true—though perhaps not for the reasons that Walter seems to think he should.

"Better," Walter says. He motions to his left. "My eldest son, Colton. My younger son, Adam." He clears his throat, and then stands. "All that remains of my once-prosperous house."

Kurt stares at them. Colton seems more tuned in to the proceedings, but both he and his brother share the same guarded, cool expression on their faces. He can't read them.

"No condolences? No polity?" Walter asks, when Kurt says nothing. "One would think that you'd be more sensitive, considering your current—" He motions to Kurt's belly. "—situation."

Kurt's pulse slams against his throat. "You kidnapped my husband. You have now also kidnapped me. And you expect social graces?"

Walter's mouth quirks. "Fair enough." The quirk morphs into a cold smile. "You are everything that they said you would be, it seems. This is good. I do not like being disappointed." He steps down off of the dais and begins a slow, broad loop around Kurt's chair, at a fair distance. "You have come bearing gifts, David tells me. However, I fail to see how you could have contained all that we asked for in that tiny thing you call a transport." He stops, his boots tapping the stones, and tilts his head. "Where is the rest of it?"

He's terrifying, but Kurt can't afford to show weakness.

"I won't speak a single word until you bring Blaine in front of me," he demands.

Walter's mouth thins into a line. "And what makes you think that we haven't killed him already?"

"If you had intended to kill him, you would never have attempted to use him as a bargaining chip."

Without breaking eye contact with Kurt, Walter snaps his fingers. "Bring the prisoner."

Kurt's head throbs, and his body rebels against his bonds once more. "If you've hurt him—"

"Threats will do you no good," Walter says. "Be thankful that that whelp in your belly subverted our plans, or you would have been down in the dungeons with your dear husband from the start."

Kurt's thoughts scatter at that. 

They had planned to take them both at once?

He doesn't have time to pursue that train of thought, because the guards are returning, and—

_Blaine. Oh, god, Blaine._

Kurt hardly recognizes him. He's thinner, his beard has grown in, and his hair is filthy and wild. He's in one piece, but Kurt can see that he's limping. His lip is split and his eyes are blackened.

Before Kurt can stop himself he's thrashing in his chair again, burning his wrists against his restraints, his eyes wild, his throat clenching, tears streaming down his face. The desire to reach out and touch Blaine, to close the distance between them, to wrap himself around him and take him away from these people, is so intense that he can't think straight.

"Blaine," he sobs, his legs churning, his arms flailing, "Blaine, Blaine!"

He wants to demand to know what they've done to him, why they've hurt him, but the words dissolve into senseless noises of distress when Blaine raises his weary head.

"Kurt," he cries, his head rolling from side to side in denial. "No. No, no, no, why are you here, why are you here? You were safe, you were—get out of here. Go home, before it's too late—" The nearest guard balls up a fist and sinks it into Blaine's stomach, and Blaine doubles over with a grunt and falls to his knees.

Kurt screams, and fights the bonds again. "Stop! Stop hurting him!"

"We no longer have any need to," Walter says. "He isn't our bargaining chip, Kurt. Once we found out that you were pregnant and he had left you behind, he merely became—bait."

Blaine is half-unconscious now, being held up on his knees by a guard.

Kurt doesn't understand what he's being told at first, and then he realizes what Walter means.

"This—this was all to get at—me? You wanted _me_?"

"The invitation was for the happily married couple, originally. Having you both would have certainly sealed the deal. You saw for yourself how useless Jon and Anita are when disaster strikes. They always have been. They are peace time leaders, and when tragedy strikes they rely on others to do what needs to be done. Without the two of you, without the promise of an heir, they would have bent the knee without a second thought. David chose wisely."

Kurt knows that there is a kernel of truth in this—but it is far from the whole story and, in any case, this murderer has no right to judge the Andersons' worth.

"When Blaine arrived without you, we had to adjust. It was entirely a coincidence, however, that what we asked David to do—deliver you to us—was exactly what you commanded him to do."

Kurt feels his chest deflate. He had been so stupid.

"Of course, this is not a new effort. David has been working for us for years. He tried to get into your research vaults, and made dozens of attempts at bribery and infiltration—all failures. Your people are distressingly loyal. I admit, it has been frustrating."

Kurt smirks, despite himself. "You're a fool if you think that this is going to be easy, even with the two of us as your prisoners. It's good that you don't appreciate the value of loyalty—David certainly had none. You are welcome to him."

Walter motions for the guards and Colton, and walks toward Kurt. "It needn't be easy. It must simply be done." He turns to Colton. "Carry on as we discussed."

Walter dismisses his younger son with a wave of his hand. Kurt makes eye contact with Adam for a moment before he turns to leave—he looks unhappy, and Kurt files that away as they take the ends of his chains and lead him, flanked on all sides, out of the hall. Blaine, still unconscious, is taken in the opposite direction, and Kurt doesn't bother to waste his strength on struggling.

The room that they take him to is a standard set of windowless chambers. The only way in or out is a single, solid door that has exterior panel digital locks and steel reinforcement between two layers of mahogany. There is no way that he would be able to escape without assistance.

"Why is Blaine being treated like a criminal while I am given guest accommodations?" he asks, even as he collapses into a sitting position at the end of the bed. They remove the chains from his leather cuffs, and Colton dismisses the guards. "You've very brave to face me alone."

"Don't be ridiculous," Colton says. "You can hardly sit upright, much less fight me."

The room has obviously been cleared of anything that could be used as a weapon—it's down to bare furniture, all too heavy and well-made to be broken up into tools or weapons.

"You were also thoroughly frisked for concealed items before you woke up," Colton says, raking Kurt with his eyes. "So don't bother trying to threaten me."

Colton's stare is invasive and aggressive. He's not even attempting to conceal the nature of his appraisal. Kurt flushes with embarrassment and discomfort. He can still feel the baby blanket against his chest, so they must not have considered it to be a weapon.

"You're an animal," he says, glaring.

Ignoring him, Colton goes on, "You will be allowed supervised visits to the bathroom three times a day, once for bathing, if I'm feeling generous. Three meals a day, also supervised, and you won't be allowed utensils, so get used to making deft use of those lovely hands of yours." He licks his lips, and Kurt looks away, overwhelmed by how uncomfortable Colton makes him feel. "We'll have plenty of time to chat, so be bashful now, all you like, but it won't change anything."

Staring at the floor, Kurt takes in the man's fitted leather boots and cow-hide pants hugging his legs. He is good looking, which makes his behavior all the more repulsive by contrast.

"We already have the drawings that you stowed away in your vehicle," Colton says, his tone almost teasing. "If you think that's what we brought you here for, you are sorely mistaken. Everything that matters, every little doodle that your daddy has made, is inside that head of yours, and I know it. The more you share, the easier this will go—for you, and for Blaine." His expression goes icy. "Every time that you fight me, he'll suffer. Make no mistake about that."

Kurt just stares at Colton, his face as red as an apple, hatred thrumming through his veins.

"The same goes for any funny business—if you try to refuse food, or harm yourself, or bribe the guards, or escape, Blaine will suffer. And if you think that we're going to reward your silence, you're very wrong indeed." He tilts his head, his eyes as cold as his unwanted appraisal is hot. "That little belly of yours will pop soon, and when it does—well. Where you end up—either left here to languish or in our hospital for surgery—that's up to you, Kurt Hummel."

The click-thud of the door as it closes behind Colton lands on Kurt like the lash of whip.

He needs to get up and search the room for something hidden—a door, or a forgotten item that he might use as a weapon—but he simply doesn't have the strength. His mind, now allowed to roam, finds its way immediately back to Blaine, and tears spring hot and sudden to his eyes.

He thinks of Blaine and feels like vomiting, but can't bring himself to allow it to happen. He feels like wallowing in the self-loathing that comes when he realizes that this is his fault, that people had advised him against this course and he'd pursued it and now here they are, both trapped.

He puts a hand on his belly, where their son is rolling, as if he knows that something is wrong, and weeps himself into a death-like sleep, curled up in a ball on the bed.

 

*

 

The worst part is not even being so close and yet so far away from Blaine (whose very well-being now depends on every action that he takes), but being utterly friendless. It's something that Kurt has never experienced before, not even as a child. 

The guards that ferry him from his room to the bathroom laugh and joke and chat over his head as if he is just a house pet that requires tending and not a human being at all. They don't respond to his attempts at conversation, because they know perfectly well that he will only try to persuade them to help him. Under normal circumstances, he would try to physically evade them, injure them if possible, but they are many and armed, and he can't risk retaliation because of the baby—he simply can't. All it would take would be one well-aimed blow or a fall and his organ—

He can't even finish the thought; it's that incomprehensible to him.

Colton interrogates him on an intentionally erratic schedule, to keep him off-guard. He brings the drawings that Kurt had packed, as well as blank paper, pen, and ink, and talks Kurt into increasingly dizzy circles, trying to get him to give up information.

With every circumspect refusal to give them the details that they want—and it doesn't take an engineering genius to see that the research they're missing relates to building core components of any number of weapons—Kurt neatly tows the line between "refusing to cooperate" and "convenient ignorance".

The terror that he carries with him every moment after this begins in earnest surrounds him and suffuses everything, from the bed that he sleeps in to the table that he eats at to the baths that he rushes through, one eye on the guards that stand by to make sure that he doesn't try to drown himself or dash his head on the stones.

It's like living with a knife at his throat, at every waking moment.

Colton is the keynote of this fear, coming into his room at all hours of the day and night, waking him up, berating him, threatening him, and hovering just there in his personal space, doing nothing as if to say, "But I could do anything that I wanted, if I chose to."

He never hesitates to take Kurt in with his eyes, to linger over every inch of Kurt as if Kurt is nothing more than an object to be enjoyed.

After approximately a week of this, Kurt tries to bring himself into focus. Being afraid and intimidated has grown old, and he knows that he must do something productive. Everything depends on his ability to navigate this situation intelligently and proactively.

But what to do? The only people who live in the house are the Crawfords and their guards.

At night, Kurt has terrible dreams about taking revenge on David and Walter, which overlap in disturbing patterns with happy dreams about Blaine and their son.

He wakes up one morning as hard a rock beneath his tunic, which hasn't happened in some time, and he's so sick with himself that he can't even bring himself to acknowledge it. 

Colton, of course, notices the flush on his cheeks, and taunts him appropriately.

"Interesting, you carriers," he says, sitting in a chair across from the bed, his legs flung open, tossing an apple from hand to hand. "They say that your hormones are quite all over the place—one moment you are perfectly normal, the next you're panting like a bitch in heat." He sniffs the air, feigning discovery. "It doesn't take a doctor to tell how you woke up this morning."

Kurt says nothing. No matter what he says, Colton will continue to abuse him.

"You could take care of it, you know," Colton says, licking apple juice from his lip. "I don't mind in the slightest." He shrugs. "Or I could give you a hand." He licks his bottom lip. "Who knows? Maybe if you're nicer to me, I might be nicer to you."

Kurt shudders, and feels sick. What can he do? What can he say? What if Blaine suffers the consequences of his words and actions, no matter which he chooses?

Every now and then, Adam will interrupt his brother's interrogation.

When this happens, Kurt trembles with relief—and then simply trembles, because what kind of a situation is he in that one villain being replaced by another comes as a relief to him? 

On one of these occasions, Adam comes bearing food for Kurt.

"Leave off, Colton," he says. "I have to make sure that he eats before I can return to my duties."

"He's warmed up for you, little brother," Colton says, with a lewd smile. "No need to thank me."

Adam sighs as Colton walks out of the room.

Kurt slides to the edge of the bed, rolling his blankets down, and then pads, barefoot and shaken, to the table, where he sits obediently and doesn't look Adam in the eye.

He has to feed his son—that is how he has come to think of these meals, because he's not sure if he could get the food down otherwise.

Adam has a sharper face than his brother, but otherwise they are very similar. Kurt doesn't know what to expect from him—they've never been alone together—and so he expects nothing.

Adam watches him. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. The food helps, providing a rush of energy that makes his thoughts sharper.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asks, the picture of awkwardness.

"Is that the play, then?" Kurt asks. "He threatens me, and then you come bearing food and act as the kind, concerned one, and between one extreme and the other, I crack like an egg?"

There's a moment of silence. Kurt looks up from his tray to see Adam staring at him with his lips parted and his eyes stormy gray with emotion. He isn't sure which emotion, and isn't sure that it even matters; none of these people can be trusted.

Adam looks at the door, and then back at Kurt. "I stopped him because I don't like the way that he's treating you. It isn't honorable."

"You have the nerve to speak to me about _honor_?" Kurt asks, his jaw ticking with rage.

Adam bows his head, as if he can't bring himself to argue, and then takes the empty food tray back. He leaves without a word. 

Kurt doesn't know what to think, other than that he must do something to get them out of here.

 

*

 

After the Crawfords officially declare the drawings Kurt had brought with him useless, they drag him to their labs, instead. And then to their sheds, and then to their engineering groups. He's interrogated by new people, and has schematics shoved in his face and pens thrust into his hand. 

He doesn't give them what they want, but he does learn quite a lot.

The Crawfords' people have made good progress on working weapons prototypes, but they lack the key components that would make those prototypes fully functional. These weapons are, for the most part, clunky siege weapons that Kurt vaguely recalls from his history lessons—they blow things up, they shoot heavy ammunition, and they cause loud, messy destruction. But without proper construction and the correct ammunition, they will also fall apart after a few volleys, or fail to go off in the first place, or any number of other functional disasters.

Kurt, who had been raised on mechanical drawings the way that some children had been raised on alphabet primers, can see the flaws in these designs and knows how to fix a good majority of them. At a loss for how to navigate the situation, he plays dumb throughout the process—he even asks questions, as if he is genuinely clueless about what he's looking at.

He pays for it later—and so does Blaine. It's only when it's over that he realizes he's gone too far.

Adam visits him late that night, well into the longest hours, which is unusual but doesn't matter because Kurt couldn't sleep even if he were drugged right now. He's sitting in the corner of the room on the floor wrapped in blankets that he's dragged off of the bed, holding his belly and whispering stories to their son in the dark. He knows as soon as Adam sits on the edge of the bed without greeting him that something awful has happened.

"They hurt him," Adam says, sounding shaken.

"How badly?" Kurt asks, not caring in this moment if Adam is trustworthy or not.

"A couple of broken fingers."

Kurt whimpers in the back of his throat, and presses his face into his hands.

"I had one of the lads bind them. They should heal straight."

"Why are you dangling kindness in front of me like a carrot in front of a horse? Leave me alone! It's bad enough that your brother torments me almost every day—" He sucks in a breath. "I'm not going to tell you anything. I can't. If I do, my people are as good as dead."

"I haven't asked you anything, Kurt." 

He wants more than anything to believe Adam, but the situation is too good to be true. And it doesn't make sense—if Adam were sympathetic to their cause, he never would have allowed any of this to happen in the first place, would he have?

"That's your tactic. It's obvious. Don't think that I believe a word you say," Kurt says, tears leaking from his eyes as he imagines Blaine suffering because of his behavior. "And where is your tyrant father? Why hasn't he questioned me? I would like to see him! We might as well make this a family affair."

He can't see Adam's expression clearly enough to judge his reaction, but he doesn't care. The damage has been done, and his guilt is making him furious. Adam is a convenient target.

"I care, because my brother has been given instructions to begin taking parts off of your husband by the end of the week if you don't correct the drawings that they have given you. I can't sit idly by while they dismember a man who I have grown up knowing and respecting," Adam says.

"I don't trust you," Kurt says, dragging his hands through his hair.

"I know that," Adam says. "I'm not asking you to. But just as you can't trust me, I can't remain silent."

"Where was this nobility when they took him?" Kurt growls, throwing his blankets aside. "Where was this nobility when they beat him? How convenient that you are a sympathizer now that your family has finally got their hands on me. Go away! Leave me alone! You're a liar!"

Adam does as he asks without further protest, and something about his defeated exit is worse than anything else that he could have said. Kurt cries, twisting his limbs around the curve of his belly as if tormented, and begs release from the still air in his comfortable prison.

What to do when there is no hope left?

The following day, he absorbs every foul word that Colton throws at him, and within them he finds a hint of what Adam had told him the night before. He can't deny the correlation—even if they are playing him, it's very likely that the threat is real, and Blaine has suffered enough.

At the end of the day, sitting hunched over the drawings that Walter wants him to fix, he realizes that he has no choice but to listen to Adam.

His attempts to sneak messages to the less cruel guards who he has met have amounted to nothing. His attempts to bargain with extended family members have fallen on deaf ears. His carefully timed attempts to find secret ways out of his room have amounted to nothing. No one from Westerville will come, at least not yet, and time is a luxury that they can no longer afford.

 

*

 

The next time that they are alone, Kurt asks Adam, "How well do you know Blaine?"

"We interacted extensively on official visits. Now and again, we maintained a professional correspondence."

Tired and broken and feeling as if his eyelids have weights on them, Kurt looks at Adam. He knows that he's pale and sickly looking, that his hair is brittle and has begun to thin at the back where he keeps tugging the strands out. He knows that his eyes are dull and the only thing that protrudes from his lean shape other than his belly are the bones of his wrists and collar, making him look so much worse than he feels, and he feels awful to begin with.

"Were you lovers?" he asks, the corner of his mouth twisting. He is almost, but not quite, joking.

Adam splutters, "No, oh, god, no. I—I would—no."

Kurt finds his polite indignation amusing.

"Is he not to your liking? Have I misjudged the innuendo between you and Colton? I was under the impression that you both favored men."

"We do," Adam says. "I'm sure Colton has tried, but neither of us have been with Blaine."

Kurt almost manages a smile. "Ah. I see." He takes a sip from his water goblet. "May I ask why you are the only member of your family who has any love left for mine?"

"It is not a happy tale."

"I am living a miserable tale, and misery loves company. So tell me a tale, Adam Crawford." 

Kurt makes himself pay rapt attention, despite the fact that he hardly has the will to sit straight these days. Adam looks genuinely upset, and Kurt wants to believe in that, but he can't. 

Still, Adam carries the look well. Lacking the cruel twist to his features that his brother so effortlessly carries, Adam is quite handsome. In another life, Kurt might have found him pleasing to look at. Kurt might have blushed to receive his attention, might have even sought it out. In this life, at present, Kurt can't recall what pleasurable attention had felt like, and when he reaches for the memory all his aching heart supplies is _Blaine Blaine please Blaine_.

"Last year, a disease that started in the cow pastures here found a foothold in our house," Adam says. "As you might have noticed, we have vast domestic holdings. This house holds only our primary family—and now our guards, of course, but we didn't have guards then. For whatever reason, only this house was affected. It took my last living grandparent, my aunts and uncles, my mother, four younger brothers and two younger sisters. It—decimated our family." He clears his throat. "My father went into a rage so extreme that the man he was when he came out of it was not the man he was before. I'm not trying to say that he was innocent, before. He has been plotting the overthrow of the other provinces for years. He's always been convinced that we are the only family capable of ruling. That because we were the first refuge family to work this land—by the right of settlement—all of the other families owe us allegiance. He convinced us, over the years, but it was only an idea until—after he lost almost his entire family, his dreams of ruling were all that he had left." Adam runs a hand through his hair. "He forbade us to attend your wedding, and then extended an apology for our absence to lure you here. He wanted you both, especially after we received your conception announcement and he knew that he could have power over your heir, as well. And he—he got you, all three of you, in the end. I don't know what he'll do to you, Kurt, if you refuse to give him what he wants, but I do know that you—" He stops, his voice breaking. "You will be the last one standing, without a doubt. He will kill Blaine, he will let your child die in your body, he will—he will find and kill your birth family and your village, and he will make you watch. There won't be anything left for you to fight for."

"This is it, then," Kurt says, his throat closing up. "This is how your father will use you to press me into giving you the power to destroy almost a thousand years of rebuilding, with the very tools that made us refugees in the first place. Can't you see it? Can't you see that you are just repeating history—treating it as a solution instead of the violent, power-hungry tragedy that it really is?"

"Of course I can," Adam shouts, pounding the table, making Kurt flinch. He withers at the fear on Kurt's face, flattens his hands on the rattling wood, and breathes out harshly. "Do you think that I am spewing all of this for the sake of getting you to put red ink on those schematics? Damn the drawings! Damn this madness! I do not want to inherit a military state when my father and brother die, most likely in battle killing my own people. I do not want my family to be remembered for this. This is not what my mother, my brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles, would have wanted for any of us. They were all convinced that my father's plans were the idle fancies of an old man wanting to leave his mark on this world—they had no idea that he was actually doing it, actually building those monstrosities in the sheds, and training farmers to fight and sheep herders to bear arms. After they were dead and buried, I lived in a fog of guilt-stricken grief, and by the time that fog cleared my father had already put his plans into motion."

Kurt looks away, unable to bear Adam's pain on top of his own. He wants to believe Adam, but he had trusted David, had thought that he'd known David, had eaten with him and laughed with him and been promised his friendship. He can't forget that betrayal; it's still too fresh.

These two situations, however, aren't identical. There is a way to break this stalemate.

Kurt decides to take the risk.

"I don't believe you," he says. "And nothing less than full capitulation will satisfy your father. You know that I can't do that—so the suffering will continue." He waits. He watches frustrated tears mist Adam's eyes. It's all very convincing, and Kurt is beyond judging Adam's presentation as either true or false. It's his actions that will decide his character now. "Unless you help us."

His words drop into the silence between them like a stone into deep water. 

Adam flinches as if stung, and looks away.

"Ah," Kurt says, his voice thick with venom. "I see I have you there."

"No!" Adam says, lunging forward. "No, it is not that simple. You're right, of course, but it's not—"

His chest swelling with hope, Kurt leans closer. "Your father's path is set. Your brother supports him. The rest of your family holds no political sway. You have to see how wrong it is to allow this to happen without a contrary voice or action. You will lose everything that means anything to you, because even if your father succeeds, you'll be no better than the monsters who almost destroyed us during the War. There will be no redemption for this, Adam, not in your lifetime."

Adam puts his face in his hands, and Kurt sees that he has him, now. It lights a fire inside of Kurt, and he plunges ahead, daring to put a hand on Adam's arm.

"We can help you. We can do many things, but not as prisoners. Get Blaine and I out of here, give us the resources to get home and I promise you, you will not stand alone. We will help you."

"You make it sound so easy," Adam says. "It isn't!" His chest heaves. He too seems to realize that he has everything to lose in this conversation. He adds, quickly, "I want to stop my father and my brother. I do. Let me—I can't—not yet. But I can do something. I want to prove to you that I am not manipulating you on my father's behalf. I can bring you to Blaine. There's an event tomorrow that the whole house will be attending, on the opposite side of the dome fields. They'll be gone for at least twenty-four hours. You could have the entire day and even part of the night together, and I can linger in the lower levels to make sure that you have complete privacy. I can get you things—bathwater, medical supplies, and decent food and water."

"What about the aftermath?" Kurt asks. "That does us no good if they just start beating Blaine senseless again. And won't they be suspicious when they find that he has been tended to?"

"I will say that I took pity on him, and had him looked after. They know that he and I were friendly before all of this began. They won't question it. As for the aftermath—Kurt, fix a drawing. Let my father have it. He will give it to his engineers, and once they have confirmed that you've done as he asked, I will find a way to destroy it. I promise you, I swear to you on the burial mounds of my mother and siblings that I will do this. If you don't give him something in the next few days, I won't be able to stop him from hurting Blaine again." He reaches out to take Kurt's hand in his. "Please, believe me. I want to help you."

"I don't know what to believe," Kurt says. His hand shakes in Adam's. It's been so long since he's been touched kindly, and he wishes that he could enjoy it. "I have no choice but to agree to your plan. But I will tell you this—I swear by all that I hold dear—if you betray us, I will take you apart with my bare hands, Adam Crawford. Do you understand me?"

Adam nods, squeezing his hand. "I understand."

Feeling stronger than he has in a long while, Kurt releases Adam's hand and sits up straighter in his chair. "When can I expect you tomorrow?"

"I'll take you to the baths in the morning as the guards usually do, and then reroute you after you're done. The house will be abandoned but for a few guards outside of the gates of the compound, so we should have no interruptions. I will remain at the entrance to the lower levels all day and into the night, and I will come for you well before they return."

It's a plan, which is more than he'd had before, and that is enough for tonight.


	21. Chapter 21

Kurt is up with the sun the next day, and Adam is at his door as soon as he's dressed. 

Wearing a simple robe and carrying a change of clothes, he rushes into the hall as soon as Adam opens the door, and recoils when Adam hooks the usual chains to his wrist cuffs.

"On the off chance that someone has stayed behind, this must look normal," Adam says. "In the lower levels no one could sneak up on us, but up here..."

"Very well," Kurt says, gritting his teeth.

Once they are alone in the baths, Adam releases him. Kurt would love to take advantage of the situation and enjoy a leisurely bath, but now is not the time. He thoroughly but quickly washes himself, aware of every movement as he stares at Adam's back.

Rinsing the suds from his naked skin, sunk to his waist in the bath, he feels bold enough to tease, "Your brother enjoyed sneaking peaks often enough."

"My brother is a cad," Adam says.

"Look at me," Kurt says.

"W-what?"

"Look at me, Adam."

Adam turns, hesitating even at that, and goes pink down to the neckline of his tunic when he sees Kurt, pale and long, with one wet, hairy forearm wrapped around his heavily pregnant belly.

"Blaine and I are going to have a son," he says. "One day, he will care for our people the way that we're trying to care for them now. This is what we do. It's what all of us do. Please, promise me that you will see us safely past the borders of your land. Promise me that you will do everything in your power to stop your father from destroying all that we have worked so hard for."

Adam inhales audibly through his nose and tilts his face. "I will try. That's all I can promise you." 

"You're moved by my cause," Kurt says, letting his arm fall, "and yet you won't commit to it."

"Please," Adam says, his throat bobbing, "please, we're wasting time."

Feeling angry, and stronger for it, Kurt steps right out of the bath in front of Adam, and enjoys the wicked thrill that surges through him when those blue-gray eyes travel his body from head to toe just once before falling away shamefully.

He dries off quickly, and then shrugs into a loose-fitting tunic and pants and a pair of soft-soled house boots before allowing himself to be strapped back into the wrist restraints and chains.

"Take me to him," he says, his chin up.

Adam leads him out into the hallway without looking him in the eye. They walk down the first flight of steps, and Adam stops them on the landing to take the restraints off of his wrists.

"He's the only prisoner?" Kurt asks, rubbing his wrists.

"On this level, yes," Adam says, guiding him down the next flight of stairs, one hand on his elbow to keep him steady, and the other holding a satchel full of the things that he had promised he would provide last night. "Go to him. There's a wooden tub down here. I'll take care of filling it."

"Thank you," Kurt says.

He's trying to prepare himself, but there is no way to accomplish that, so he just rushes across the room, his booted feet whispering over the cold stones. 

Blaine is curled up in a ball on a straw pallet in the corner of his cell, deeply asleep. With Colton and Walter gone, he must have had a quiet morning, and Kurt isn't surprised that the promise of solitude had allowed him to rest.

Adam uses a code as well as his fingerprint to open the digital lock, and before there is even enough room for Kurt to fit through the gap, he turns sideways and forces himself through. His pulse pounding in his ears, he falls to his knees beside Blaine, and when he finally puts his hands on Blaine he can't seem to stop, even though he knows this is not the best way to wake him.

"Blaine," he says, his voice cracking and his throat closing up. "Blaine. Blaine, wake up." Blaine flinches, jerks away, and slams himself into the corner of the cell that is at his back. "It's me," Kurt says, reaching out for him. "It's Kurt."

Blaine goes still, his eyes going clear and then immediately darting to Adam outside of the cell, cranking a spigot in the corner of the room to fill the wooden bathing tub.

"Why is he...?" Blaine asks. He looks confused and frightened.

"He's doing what he can," Kurt says. 

The sound of his voice is obviously, finally sinking in.

Blaine's mouth trembles, and then he begins to sob, his fingers scrabbling along the stones beneath him. Kurt crawls into his arms, wrapping his own around Blaine's neck and head, dragging Blaine down and in against his chest. Blaine's arms tighten around his waist. He buries his face in Kurt's tunic and weeps, and Kurt rocks him and strokes his hair.

"K-Kurt?"

"I'm here, it's me. I'm here, I'm here."

"Kurt," Blaine whimpers, weakly kissing at his collarbone, his neck. "Kurt, oh, god, Kurt, Kurt, you're alright, you're—the baby is alright?" Kurt nods, and feels Blaine shake with sobs again, but he's kissing Kurt at the same time, fumbling for his jaw and touching his face. When Kurt can't stand it anymore he holds Blaine's head still in his hands and kisses his lips, whimpering when Blaine hungrily latches on and kisses him back. 

They stop to breathe. Kurt stares into Blaine's blurry hazel eyes and presses their noses and foreheads together. He's weak. He's so weak. Kurt swears silently that he will not stop until he has gotten them out of this mess and safely home.

"I love you," he whispers. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"

"Have they hurt you?" Blaine asks. "If they have, I will make them pay, I will—they will never—"

"Colton is awful, but he hasn't—no, I'm fine."

"They can do things to you without _touching_ you, Kurt, I need to know—"

"They've threatened me. But it doesn't matter. You're the one who they've been hurting."

Blaine's chest is heaving. He's thin, but they haven't been starving him—just not feeding him very well, or regularly. He's filthy, but Kurt doesn't care what he looks or smells like. They have to make use of every minute that they have today.

"I need to take care of you now," he says, stroking Blaine's curls. "After that, we can talk more."

"He's helping us?" Blaine asks.

"Yes," Kurt says, and leaves it at that for now.

Adam drags the bathing tub into the cell, and then wedges a stone in the doorway. "I'm leaving this open, in case you need more water. I'm trusting you, Kurt, to not try to flee today. You wouldn't make it to the transports. You must believe me." Kurt nods stiffly. "There is a loose block in the floor of the cell, under which you can hide the food. He's used it before."

"Very well," Kurt says. 

It isn't until he can't hear Adam's footsteps that he relaxes, slumping from his knees to a full sitting position on the floor. Blaine clambers into his lap, wraps his legs and arms around him and goes limp. They don't speak for a long time, just hold each other, touching each other gently, until the initial rush of excitement fades. They're together again. Nothing else seems to matter.

Blaine strokes his belly, and bends to kiss it. "Hello, little one."

Tears streak down Kurt's cheeks. "We're okay," he says, swallowing heavily. "We're going to be okay." He snuffles to clear his nose. "The water will get cold. I have a feeling that we're going to need at least two or three of those tubs, so let's—let's do that."

"I hate being this weak," Blaine says, kneeling unsteadily. "They feed me when they please, and keep me chained up, usually—I suppose in the rush to leave this morning they forgot."

Kurt stands, with difficulty, and then helps Blaine out of his dirty clothes. "We were both fooled," he says, throwing the caked rags aside. "They took me outside the gates, with David's help."

Blaine's puffy, red-rimmed eyes well with fresh tears. "I found out about David soon after I arrived. Colton threw that tidbit in my face with great relish." Kurt helps him into the steaming water, and he lets out a long, low moan. "God, that feels incredible." Once he's settled, Kurt sits on a stool beside the tub with a lump of soap and a stack of soft cloths. "David always was a bit unhappy, but I had no idea that he was in their pocket. I still can't believe it. He was like a brother to me."

"He's always chafed at not being given a higher position," Kurt says, helping Blaine sit back in the water, and placing a towel between his neck and the tub's lip. "He would have been easily swayed by offers of power and title. I don't know why I didn't recognize it sooner."

Kurt takes one rag and Blaine another, and they split the lump of soap. It takes three tubs of water and some time, but finally Blaine is clean, down to his toes and up to his last curl.

After the tub is emptied, Kurt lays out the blankets that Adam had left them, creating a sort of nest in the warmest corner of the cell. Blaine sits in front of him, and he opens the medical kit and begins seeing to the bruises and cuts on Blaine's face, arms, and legs. He applies salve and bandages where he can, especially around the restraint wounds on Blaine's wrists and ankles. There are bruises all over his torso and back, but there's not much to be done, there. His taped fingers look like that are healing well. Once that is done, he makes Blaine swallow a skin of water with pain dulling powder as well as an antibiotic mixed in.

"It won't put you to sleep, don't worry," he says.

Blaine smiles. "It had better not. I don't intend to sleep until you've gone."

It has been so long since Kurt has heard that sweet voice flirting with him that he almost begins crying in relief all over again.

"Love," Blaine says, cupping his crumpled face. "I have missed you so much."

"I—and I you," he says, practically stuttering. There's a scissor in the medical kit, and he picks it up. "Let me trim your hair? That mop can't be comfortable."

Blaine sits on the stool, and then helps Kurt up. The soft snip of the scissors is relaxing, and they both fall into a daze, Blaine's eyes sliding shut, and Kurt's fingers finding an automatic rhythm, cutting out the knots and trimming the length. He cuts it a bit shorter than Blaine usually wears it, unsure about how long it will be until the next time that he can see to it.

"Adam has a water skin here, so that you can ration what they give you. He also has dried meat and fruit and wafers—it should all keep very well in the wrappings. You can hide the medical kit, as well, but the blankets and the tub I'll have to take with me, I suppose."

He's babbling. He's agitated. Now that he has Blaine, all he wants to do is what he had promised Adam he wouldn't do—run. But he can't. They can't.

"Kurt," Blaine says, easing himself back down onto the blankets, and putting his back to the wall. "Just be with me, right now?"

Kurt curls up sideways in between Blaine's legs, Blaine's arms around him, his head tucked up beneath Blaine's chin, and his ear to Blaine's chest. Blaine puts one hand on his back, and one on his belly. Kurt tugs the blankets up around them. It's cold down here, colder than he had thought it would be considering the warmth of early Summer outside, but the resilience of Blaine's body against his makes him feel warmer than he has in weeks.

Blaine opens the food packet one-handed, without letting Kurt go, and when Kurt refuses to eat because he has access to meals upstairs, Blaine manages to get down a strip of fruit leather, a wafer, and plenty of water, slow sip by slow sip. He breathes out in relief, and when the food begins to impart its energy, leaves Kurt just long enough to empty his bladder and come back.

Kurt's reaching for him before he even sits back down, and he smiles, drawing Kurt deeper into his lap. Kurt tilts his head up for a kiss, and Blaine finally has the strength to cup the back of his head this time, to part his lips and lick into his mouth. Kurt's blood surges. 

"Blaine," he says, already flushed to his collarbone. "Please—please."

Kurt is naturally insatiable, and he hasn't felt pleasure like this since the last time that he had given it to himself at home just after Blaine had left for Essex. He begins to stiffen almost as soon as Blaine starts suckling wet kisses into the side of his neck, and when Blaine finds that spot below his ear he whimpers and wraps his forearms around Blaine's neck.

"Oh," he moans, tilting his head back. "Oh, oh, B-Blaine."

Blaine huffs hot and frantic against his spit-slick skin. "Can we—are you—the baby, what about the baby, are you okay? I don't want to hurt—"

"Been so long," Kurt says, letting Blaine's mouth at every inch of his neck and throat as he fumbles to push the loose pants that are clinging to Blaine's too-thin hips down. "Missed you, m-missed your hands on me, the way you smell, the way you feel, god—at home, b-before I left, used—used the toy so many times, closed my eyes and just pretended—that it was you, p-please—I'm fine, I'm fine, we're fine, I just—please."

Now that he's here and able to have this again his body is taking off with it, streaking ahead of common sense before he can control it. His cock is straining his pants, and his—he feels so _empty_ , and he needs Blaine to fill him up more than he needs to breathe right now.

Blaine is still weak, though, and it shows in his loose hold, in the way that he's already breathing uncomfortably fast when they haven't even begun. His fingers are shaking, especially on the hand with the broken ones, and his legs aren't as strong as they used to be. 

Kurt straddles his thighs and kisses him, and whispers against his lips, "Let me do the work."

"God, please," Blaine whimpers, clutching his sides as he presses Blaine to lie down on the blankets, flat on his back. "Need to be inside of you. Need to feel you."

Kurt lifts himself up and off of his knees just long enough to get his pants off, and Blaine helps him with his tunic. When he's naked and Blaine's pants are around his knees, Blaine's fingers feather across his shoulders and collarbone, his chest and belly.

"So beautiful," he says, "the only beautiful thing here, only thing that kept me from going completely insane—never—never letting you go again, d-do you hear me, Kurt—"

Kurt wrangles a tube of medical lubricant from the kit that's still open on the blankets, smears himself with it, and lets the excess drip down onto Blaine's flushed cock. Blaine hisses when he wraps his hand around it, guides it to his hole, which is so eager for it, so hungry for it, that it puckers around the swollen crown and won't relax until it feels the pressure of it digging in.

"Never," Kurt hisses, his head thrown back, his back arched, and the dome of his belly heaving in front of him as he sits down, wriggling his hips to push the length of Blaine's throbbing cock into his ass. "Mine. You're mine," he says, slamming down, driving Blaine inside to the hilt. "And I'm yours." He gasps, the heat and pressure of penetration rushing through his body in waves of sensation. It feels so good that he could weep, and before he can control it the tears are streaking down his cheeks, followed by gasps of pleasure and almost surprise—he'd forgotten what it felt like. "Mine—" He rocks his hips, driving their bodies together. "Mine, mine—" He grabs the blankets on either side of Blaine's legs, leans back and begins riding him. Blaine is whimpering beneath him, writhing, as Kurt begins to go faster despite his muscles screaming and his body protesting, his belly bouncing, slapping down against the opposing upward tap of his hard cock, which is trapped between his belly and Blaine's. "Want to make you come," he whines, his body tight and clenching, using Blaine's thickness with every hungry downward plunge, "want you to come inside of me, want to come with you—m-make me come, make me—"

Blaine cries out, his fingers clenching Kurt's thighs so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. He holds Kurt still and, with a burst of energy, begins thrusting up into Kurt wildly. Kurt's cock gets caught between the underside of his pregnant belly and Blaine's hairy stomach, and there's enough friction to keep him there as Blaine pushes in and out of him at a rapid clip, his balls slapping against Kurt's clenched cheeks.

"That's it, right there," Blaine pants. "Can feel you tightening up on me, know you want to come, love, let it happen, it's okay. I'm here, I'm right here, you're safe—let go."

Kurt's sobs of pleasure echo off of the stone walls and floors and he comes, rutting his cock between them, jolting wet, warm rushes up Blaine's stomach and chest, soaking the thickly grown in hair all the way up to his collarbone. Blaine works his ass through it, making him take the thick stretch of his cock over and over again, until Kurt clamps up and sits back on it. He growls, clawing at the floor with his injured hand and squeezing Kurt's ass cheek with the other.

"Do it," Kurt whimpers, clenching tight, and then tighter still, watching his face. "Want to hold it until it dries, keep you deep inside of me—"

"Oh my god," Blaine moans, and comes, rocking up desperately several times before going still, his cock pulsing as it empties inside of Kurt. His too-slender body is tight and tense and bowed up off the floor. Kurt swivels down around his cock, working it through several after-pulses.

"So good," Kurt whines, rising and falling on it. "Cock feels so good, honey, made to fit me, made to be inside of me, every day, never want to be without this again, never—"

"Just stay, don't move, just—like this, okay?"

"Yes," Kurt breathes, sitting back down as deeply as he can. "Yes."

It's almost more erotic than the act itself, sitting there naked and sweaty while Blaine's cock goes soft inside of him, nestled in the curve of his rectum with no goal other than to just—occupy him. He almost dozes off sitting there straddled over Blaine's hips, with Blaine stroking his come into his skin and then touching Kurt's belly with tacky fingers, tracing every inch of it, from the dip of his distended navel, to the underside where it's sweaty, to the arch where it's tight and dry and hot, and along the sides where there are visible stretch marks, stripes like on the underbelly of a fish. Kurt is sensitive about the fact that he may always have these marks, but at this moment in time he doesn't care—he feels handsome and strong under Blaine's hands, taken care of in the most respectful and loving way.

They're exhausted, but after about half an hour, Blaine begins to stiffen inside of him again, his good hand gently strumming and teasing Kurt's swollen nipples. They are as big and puffy as they have ever been, and the flesh around them has formed little domes. Blaine pinches the diamond-hard nubs until they begin to grow wet with milk, and Kurt's cock twitches to life.

"Blaine," Kurt says, coming out of his stupor. Blaine squeezes the nipple and areola alike, then twists the whole sensitive patch under his hand, making droplets of milk ooze over his knuckles and drip down the back of his fist. "Oh, god, don't stop."

"Bend over me, sweetheart, so I can get my mouth on these beautiful things," Blaine says. 

Kurt does, almost twitching Blaine right out of him when he feels the warm, wet lap of a tongue over his sensitive nipples, especially when Blaine puts his newly freed hand on Kurt's cock.

He tries to rock back onto Blaine's cock, but bent over and getting his cock stroked combined with the weight of his belly makes that difficult. Blaine compensates, gently rolling his hips up to work Kurt's ass open around him again while his hand jacks up and down Kurt's cock. He sinks his teeth into one of Kurt's nipples and Kurt cries out, his ass clenching and his cock throbbing.

"I can't, I can't, I have to—"

Blaine's fist closes around the head of his cock, where it's most sensitive, and begins tugging rhythmically. He seals his mouth over Kurt's right nipple, rapidly flicking his tongue against.

Kurt rocks his ass up and down around Blaine's cock in jerky little dives. The crown of his cock is so swollen, so tight, that it doesn't take long before it begins to throb and gape at the slit and he groans, his round belly compressed between them as he spills over Blaine's hand and Blaine comes in his ass—nearly dry, but Kurt can feel his balls tighten and release.

"Oh," Blaine groans, falling back, and letting Kurt's nipple go with a wet pop. They're red-peaked and puffy and soaked, leaking chalky milk down his chest and over the curve of his belly.

"So tired," Kurt says, gently lifting himself free of Blaine, and lowering his body to the blanket beside him. "Sleep. We have all night."

"I've got you," Blaine says, wrapping his arms around Kurt's chest.

Kurt isn't sure how long they sleep, but when he wakes up Blaine is determinately cleaning their bodies with a damp cloth. He looks better than he had just hours ago—alert and coordinated.

"I don't precisely want to," he says, his eyes softening, "but we should exchange stories."

Kurt balls up a corner of blanket under his cheek, and nods. "You first?"

"When I arrived, it was devastating to see the empty house, of course," Blaine says. "But Walter and Colton and Adam were kind, and seemed grateful for my condolences. We dined together. When I explained to them that you were in the advanced stages of pregnancy and could not come, they grew silent. Something felt off after that. Later, before I went to bed, Colton brought a drink to my rooms. We often drank together after trade meetings, so this was normal behavior." Blaine frowns. "The drink he gave me was drugged. I thought I had just had too much. Things got fuzzy, and he—he tried to—seduce me. When I told him that I wasn't interested, he simply let the drugs do their work. When I woke up, I was in chains in Walter's chambers, and he—they—threatened me. They told me that they wanted your father's designs, or your knowledge of them, and would not let me go until you surrendered to them. That's when Colton took pleasure in informing me of David's treachery. I thought it unlikely that David would succeed, so I was relieved that at least we could deny them what they asked for, even if they—kept me, or killed me, in the end. I tried every possible plea and bribe that I could in the house, but nothing worked. No one listened. I tried to escape, but I was discovered, several times. They beat me. They told me that they had executed my pages and injured Gregory." He swallows. "I was sure that you would never leave Westerville with David at his behest, sure that you would never choose to travel with him alone. I never imagined that you would be so desperate and determined to get to me that _you_ would convince _him_ to go. When the guards came in that day with you in tow, I—I lashed out at one of the ones who took me back downstairs. They were not pleased with me. And then you resisted—as you should have done—and they beat me again, and broke my fingers."

"I didn't leave with your parents' blessing," Kurt says, trembling with rage and guilt and sadness at Blaine's recounting. "But they—they shut down on me, completely. When they received the letter demanding our research, they had no idea what to do. They toyed with the idea of agreeing to the surrender and I just—I couldn't stand by and watch that happen. They needed Trent and Anna in my absence, and in the end, David was the only one with the knowledge of the Crawfords that I needed, and I was the only one with the familial authority that he needed, and—well, he was neither encouraging nor discouraging. That should have clued me in, but he was willing to come with me, and I had to try. I brought incomplete drawings with me, in the hopes that between David aiding me and the Crawfords' desperation, I could buy us some time, get us back home and work from there, but—they took me at the gate. David helped them." Kurt clasps Blaine's hands. "Promise me that after we get out of here, he will be held accountable."

"He will," Blaine replies, squeezing Kurt's hands. "He will. But right now the only thing that matters is you and I going home, and you going immediately to the hospital." Blaine sighs, toying with Kurt's fingers. "What has Adam promised you?"

"To help. He doesn't support his father's scheming."

"I was confused by his complicity," Blaine says, frowning. "He is a good man."

"He may no longer be complicit, but he's hesitating. He knows that once he openly defies his father, he'll have to fight, and I'm not sure if he's ready for that."

"We have no other choice. We need his help. He may be the only Crawford left with any sense."

"I agree." Kurt pauses, and then says, "I had to give them a corrected drawing. Adam said that doing so would buy us a few days. He promised me that he would destroy it later."

"You did the right thing," Blaine says. "A single drawing can easily be forgotten. But we have to be careful. We can't give up much more, and in that case we'll have maybe a week before Walter begins to grow impatient again. Adam must get us out of this house soon."

Kurt nods, and puts his head in Blaine's lap. "Blaine, I want to go home. I want to have our baby in our home. I want to feel safe again. I am just so—so tired." He sighs. "And here I am whining when you have been abused for weeks, ten times worse than I have. I am sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize," Blaine whispers, clutching Kurt to him. "No scores between us, remember?"

Kurt closes his eyes. "Yes. I remember."

He isn't sure what time of day it is. There's no light down here, and sleeping has muddled things in his mind. He hefts himself into a sitting position, and then stands. He sweeps the scraps of garbage that they have created into the empty satchel that the food had been brought in—medical refuse and food wrappers and scraps of Blaine's hair. He moves the empty bathing tub back to where it had been before they'd used it. He folds the blankets up into a neat square, and helps Blaine hide the food that remains and the medical kit beneath the loose stone in the floor.

"Keep the blankets," he says. "You need them, and Adam can take responsibility."

Once everything is removed aside from Kurt himself, they sit on the neat blanket square together, holding each other. Their time is ticking down, and neither of them knows when they will see the other again, or what will happen tomorrow. 

Kurt is more determined than ever to utilize Adam to get them home. Later, when they are safe, they can ask Adam for justice and offer him assistance, but now—now, he is a means to an end.

Nothing else matters.

 

*

 

"It's just gone six," Adam says. Kurt is awake with Blaine asleep in his arms, wrapped around him and snoring. Adam watches them, tangled and content, and blushes. "Sorry. I know that they will want to come back to the house for their morning meal. They'll send staff ahead of them, and it would be best if you were in your bed upstairs when that happens."

Blaine scrubs his eyes and sits up beside Kurt, unconsciously sliding a protective hand over Kurt's belly. Adam's blush darkens. They stand together, Blaine helping Kurt at the last moment when he wobbles, his other hand shifting to the small of his back. Kurt sighs, hating being unsteady on his feet, but gives Blaine a brief kiss in response, tangling their hands between them.

"You're beautiful together," Adam says. "Tales of your betrothal-turned-romance have spread far and wide, but they don't quite do you justice."

There is a pregnant silence. The spigot in the corner of the room drips onto the stone floor, and the noise echoes off of the walls around them.

"We need to talk," Blaine says, squaring his shoulders. Kurt squeezes his hand.

"I am sorry," Adam says. "You have been wronged by my family, and I will do everything in my power to prevent this from going any farther."

"Those are very pretty words, but I'm not interested in sentiment," Blaine says, walking over to Adam, and stopping when they are almost close enough to touch. "How and when are you getting us out of here?"

Adam's gaze flickers between them. Kurt can tell that he's been thinking, planning during their separation. He looks sharper, and more eager. He's made up his mind.

"My father has become so obsessed with mechanics that he hasn't been astride a horse in six months," Adam says. "The horse master is all but running his own house now. I can't get you out in a transport—I can't even give you back the ones that you came in, not yet. But I can get you out on horseback." At the look on both of their faces, he sighs. "I know it isn't ideal. You're both sickly, injured—and Kurt is close to term and shouldn't risk the exertion, but—it's the only way. I will create a distraction for Colton. I can keep him busy for a day, maybe two. A simple lie will suffice for my father; he won't expect it of me. I will give him reports on you in my brother's absence to make him think that one or both of us is carrying on interrogating you. The guards will be easy to cut loose; they are simply bribed when the bribe comes from a Crawford, and have no real love for my father, in any case. So you will have a day or two free and clear on the fastest, strongest horses that I can find, to put distance between yourselves and Essex. I will take you off-compound the back way, and show you to a secret road that will take you out of the valley—it is reserved for my family's use only. It won't be patrolled. Once you're beyond the cliffs, don't take the main roads. Camp in the brush, not the stop-over cabins. That should be more than enough to evade detection; the men that my father will send looking for you are not experienced trackers—they're farmers, for the most part."

"And what about you?" Blaine asks. "Surely they'll figure out your role in all of this."

"Yes, they will," Adam replies, lifting his head. "I'm sure you'll agree that the time for negotiation has passed. I've waited long enough as it is." Kurt stares at him, and he continues, "I have a hidden domicile that I will hunker down in until the initial drama has unfolded, and after that—I have a lot of work to do. I must rally my allies and—" He stops, and sighs. "It's best if you know nothing of my plans. I promise you that I will be in touch. But there are some things that I must do myself." He looks fidgety, and then asks, "Is there anything that my family confiscated from you that you must take back with you? I can risk one trip to the sheds."

"There's a bow and arrow and a quiver in my transport that I would like back," Kurt says. "And any papers that you can stuff into a scroll case."

Blaine's jaw is tight. "Nothing in mine. Unless you are offering to hand David over to us for justice? Or the guards who killed my pages and almost killed Gregory?"

Adam frowns. "You know that I can't do that. In time—in time, Blaine—"

Kurt tugs Blaine's hand. "He's right. There are other things that we must do first."

"Tonight my father is hosting a banquet for the harvest managers. I know that this is sudden, but we'll have to make our move then."

"So soon?" Blaine asks, looking distrustful. 

"I thought I could guarantee you a few days, even a week, to recover and prepare for travel. But if we wait, it could be weeks before another satisfactory distraction presents itself."

"No," Kurt says. "You're right. We can't afford the delay. Blaine?"

Blaine exhales, looking around the cell, and then nods. "Very well."

"We should get upstairs," Adam says to Kurt.

Kurt nods. "Give us a moment?" He does, and once they're alone, Kurt slides his arms around Blaine's neck, and Blaine puts his arms around Kurt's waist. "Are you okay?"

"I am very, very angry," Blaine says.

"I know. I know. But for now, we have to leave them, and all of this, behind."

Blaine sighs into his neck, and then pulls back to kiss him. "If this plan unravels, find me. I will make every effort to find you. One way or another, we must escape the compound, at least."

Kurt nods. "I will." 

 

*

 

Kurt manages to sleep until midday, which is a relief—he would have otherwise spent that time pacing tracks into the floor, and he had been in desperate need of rest. When he wakes, he eats, and then changes into a pair of clean clothes. He folds his remaining wardrobe—the few pieces that they have allowed him to have—into a makeshift satchel. He tucks the baby blanket that he has been carefully holding on to down the front of his tunic.

His emotions are a strange blend of terror and excitement. He wants to be free of this place, more than anything, but until they're safe at home, anything and everything could go wrong.

He breathes. 

He thinks of his beautiful, brave, loving husband. He thinks of their child. He thinks of the family that's waiting for him. He thinks of the people who are depending on him. 

He has a life that he must get back to, and this madness has gone on long enough.

Bolstered, he scours the room for anything of use that he might hide on his person, but finds nothing. All he can do now is wait for Adam.

As the hours pass, he hears the noise of the party beginning below. He smells the food and the woodsmoke, and hears the clang and clatter of plates and the stomp of hundreds of feet. 

The sun goes down behind the cliffs.

He sits, dressed and ready, his palms on his belly and his head bowed, waiting. Just when he's about to lose his mind, the door opens and Adam is there, Kurt's chains in his hands.

Kurt opens his mouth, then closes it when Adam nods at him and clicks the chains onto his restraints. They walk silently to the bathroom down the hall, as usual, but once they're inside Adam pushes aside a wall panel and leads Kurt through a hidden door and down a narrow, dark staircase. Their path winds through several storage rooms, and ends with a quick dash through the darkest corner of a kitchen that's bustling with people. There's a pantry beyond that with a small door that leads out onto a courtyard that holds an herb garden, then a stretch of grass, and finally, a gate in the exterior wall of the compound.

Kurt's heart races the entire time. He barely feels the ground beneath his feet. When they at last close and lock the gate behind them, he allows himself to wheeze and clutch Adam's arm.

"We can't afford to stop," Adam says, and puts an arm around his waist to help him along.

"Who is with Blaine? Or did you release him first?" 

They walk behind buildings, wading through calf-high grass, in and out of the shadows. 

"If I'd shared that part of the plan with you before, you would never have agreed to this."

Kurt digs his heels in, and wrenches out of Adam's hold. "What are you talking about?"

"We're almost there. Please."

"If you are playing us..."

"I'm not. Please."

"Who is with Blaine?" Kurt asks, even as he's pulled along.

Adam refuses to answer him. He can see the stable in the distance, and knows that he doesn't have much of a choice—whatever the situation, that stable is his destination. He puts one foot in front of the other, and goes quiet. As long as Blaine is there, he'll be satisfied.

He smells the horses before he sees them, and rushes to enter the stable. Blaine is standing with another man and three horses—two saddled for riding, and the third for carrying. 

Kurt forgets Adam entirely when he sees Blaine standing there, dressed in riding leathers and looking something like his old self. He throws his arms around Blaine's waist, hauling him close and kissing him.

"I am never letting you out of my sight again," he says, and feels Blaine smile against his mouth.

He hears a delicate clearing of a throat and turns to look at the man standing next to Blaine. He's short and dark-haired with equally dark eyes and coloring, and he is very obviously pregnant.

Adam strolls up beside them, smiles, and says, "Blaine, Kurt, this is Ethan. He is—well, with any luck, before all of this madness is over, he'll be my husband and the father of our daughter."

Kurt's mouth drops open. Blaine is smiling, which means that this must be genuine.

"Oh," Kurt says. "Hello, Ethan." He looks at Adam. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Just because we have this in common doesn't automatically make us friends," Ethan says.

"You asked me why I was so eager to help you now," Adam says, lacing his right hand with Ethan's left, "and I didn't know what to say at the time because I wasn't sure what I was going to do. But when I decided—I needed Ethan's help to move you both at the same time. It would have been almost impossible for me to escort you both, one after the other, without the risk of being discovered. And I knew that I had to share him with you, because he is a big part of why we're standing here. I love him, and we want to start a life together, but not in the world that my father envisions. I don't want my daughter born into a war zone. I don't want her to look at her fathers and be afraid, of what they might do to others, or of what others might do to them. I know that our world isn't perfect, and that people often have black hearts no matter what, but—if I can do something to stop this and I choose to do nothing, as I have in the recent past, I would never be able to look her in the eye as long as she lived." He shrugs. "Perhaps it's cowardice that I needed that push, but—here I am, and here we are."

"I understand," Kurt says, feeling overwhelmed by the confession.

"I won't ask for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve it—at least, not yet," Adam says, smiling. "But use these horses and keep them, please. I've filled the saddlebags of the pack mare with as many supplies as I could, and your bow and arrow and scroll case, Kurt, are strapped to the side there. Ethan will escort you to the back road—I need to get back to the house for a few last minute arrangements before I disappear myself."

He turns to go, but Blaine says, "Adam, wait." He closes the short distance, and clasps Adam's hand. "Write to us, when you're ready. You'll need allies outside of Essex before this is done."

"I will," Adam says, nodding, his mouth wobbling in an attempt to smile. "Thank you."

Kurt can feel the emotions between them, guilt and regret and wounded friendship, and aches.

"Good luck, Adam," he says, and receives smile and a nod in response.

They need to be off. He takes Blaine's hand.

"Do you want to ride?" he asks.

"When we're on the road, yes," Blaine answers.

They exit out of the back of the stable, with Ethan leading them into a thick copse of trees.

"I was not involved," Ethan says, "but I am sorry for what Adam's father and brother have done. Adam only confessed to me very recently the things that have been going on in the house. He was worried that I wouldn't want to be with him, if I knew."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Kurt says. "How close are you to the birth?"

"Any day," Ethan says. "It's going to be a fiasco when his father finds out, of course, but—well. Everything is up in the air now, isn't it? We aren't married. And I'm—I'm just—I train horses."

Blaine smiles. "That is a very important job."

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly. "Save us all from the horse lovers."

"Not a fan, hm?" Ethan asks.

"What gave you that idea?" Kurt asks, laughing.

"In any case," Ethan says, "no matter what happens, we belong to each other and we want this child more than anything in the world. We'll weather the storm however we must."

"Did you know that you were a carrier when you...?"

He shakes his head. "Not until I began to show. It was—rather a shock. Frankly, he coped with it better than I did. But I came round to the idea. It's hard not to, when someone loves you as much as he loves me."

Blaine's fingers twitch against his, and he smiles at Blaine with a sideways glance, his cheeks growing warm.

"Here we are," Ethan says, and points to a subtle gap in the trees. "The end of this road is impossible to miss, even in the dark, and the route from there is on the map that Adam packed for you. I suppose I don't need to stress the fact that you should get going, and not stop until the horses need to, at least for the first stretch?"

"We're ready," Kurt says, and means it.

Blaine helps him onto his horse, and Ethan helps Blaine onto his. Blaine takes the lead—his horse's saddlebag contains the map—and Ethan tethers the pack mare to Kurt's horse.

Ethan shakes their hands in turn, and when there's nothing left to do but part, he says, "Safe journey. I expect we'll be seeing each other soon, and by then—we'll be six instead of four, hm?"

Kurt's heart skips a beat. This is true.

"Indeed," Blaine says. "Thank you, Ethan."

Over his shoulder, Kurt watches Ethan grow smaller and smaller and then disappear altogether.

Blaine sits up higher in his saddle. "We need to let the horses do their best, love."

Kurt braces himself. "I know."

The horse kicks up its hooves, and the forest becomes a blur around him.

They're finally free.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some mentions of blood and related talk of surgery.

There is nothing quite like the bone-jarring vibration that comes from hours of being on a horse's back. Kurt feels as if he'll never be still again. His body feels jarred out of alignment, and hurts so badly that he wants to cry. The addition of the weight at the front of his torso makes what the horse riding does to his back so much worse than before.

It seems impossible to rest in their little camp that consists only of bedrolls and body heat; they are both worried about being followed. They sleep in shifts—if closing your eyes for a short while can be called sleeping—and then pack up and are on the road again for another day of riding.

Stale food, briny water, rocks beneath the blankets, and body odor that no amount of love could conceal. They do this for four days, until the forest changes around them and there is no sign that they are being followed. They find a well-used camp site along the road, far back enough to conceal them and the horses, who are pleased to have open grazing and equally pleased to stop.

There's nothing that they can do about warming up water for a bath, but the stream behind their camp site is the right depth and acceptably tepid. For the first time in four days, they stop together, clutching the soap and cloths that Adam had packed for them like treasure.

Kurt scrubs his skin until it hurts, and then scrubs it again, paying special attention to his belly. He's terrified that the riding might have done something to the baby, but everything seems fine.

While he contemplates asking Blaine to help him reach the places that he can't with the baby in the way, he feels pressure against his side, and smiles.

"Give me your hand," he says.

Blaine looks confused but does as Kurt asks, and Kurt presses his palm over the organ and waits. It only takes a moment to happen again, and he frowns. "Is that—is that good?"

Kurt laughs. "He's awake."

"Oh," Blaine breathes. "Oh, god, that is amazing." He kneels naked in the lazy current, and bends to put his ear to Kurt's belly, making him laugh. "I don't think that he's up to talking just yet."

"Hello, little one. Don't listen to your papa. You can talk whenever you like, so long as you put your mind to it."

Kurt smiles. "Okay, enough. This is too ridiculous. And I need you to wash my toes."

"Of course," Blaine says, and sets to with a grin. "Was the nursery completed before you left?"

"Almost," Kurt says. "It's beautiful. You're going to love it."

It's quiet for a moment, and Kurt allows himself to relax. 

The sun is warm, he's relatively clean, and Blaine is looking healthier, if still thin bruised all over. They're going home, and Adam is working against his father with the promise of their help—they're doing something, making a difference, and that matters to Kurt.

"If my parents let us back in to the house, that is," Blaine says, cleaning in between Kurt's toes.

"I left them in a daze," Kurt says, leaning against the flat rock that's behind him, and going boneless when Blaine begins washing and then massaging his feet and ankles and calves. "Oh, god, yes, please. That feels amazing."

"You were saying?"

"Uh, right. They had just got the news—maybe an hour before. I dragged David away, and told him that we had to do something."

Blaine tilts his head. "You did the right thing. These events may not have gone the way that you or I would have wanted them to, but if we hadn't acted, they might have gone much worse."

This is very true, and also something that Kurt had never considered before.

He slides deeper into the water as Blaine washes his thighs and in between his legs. "Thank you. I'm having trouble reaching."

"It's my pleasure," Blaine replies, kissing his cheek.

Once they've dried off and hung their towels out to dry, they change and settle down on their bedrolls. The ground is much softer and flatter here, and even though it's still hard-packed dirt it's a vast improvement over the rocks and twigs that they've been sleeping on recently. He pillows his cheek on Blaine's chest, and they loop their arms around each other.

"You know," Blaine says, as the forest hums with life around them, the night sky black and dotted with stars, "we haven't discussed a name."

Kurt smiles sleepily, rubbing his stubble-covered cheek against Blaine's tunic. "Mm. Not yet. When we're home."

 

*

 

After a week of more relaxed riding, they begin to recover from their ordeal. 

They supplement the food that Adam had given them with small wild game, forest greens, and mushrooms, and even though it's bland food, it's plentiful. They sleep regularly if briefly, but most importantly, in each other's arms, and that does wonders. 

After two weeks, they have settled into an easy routine, taking care of everything in turns from washing clothes to hunting and fishing and gathering to horse care and gathering fire wood. 

Kurt isn't a fan of living entirely off of the land—even in his rural village, he had been spoiled by technology—but they both share a natural affection for good clean earth and everything that comes from it, and if they must travel like this, at least they are doing so together.

For a while they almost forget what had happened, losing themselves in each other as their bodies and minds heal. Kurt knows that things are much closer to normal when he wakes up one day to Blaine kissing his shoulder and stroking his erection through his pants.

"Mm, and how long have we been amusing ourselves?" he asks, morning-raspy and eager.

"Didn't want to wake you," Blaine says, kissing the back of his neck.

"Please do."

Blaine slides a hand down his pants, makes a loose fist around his cock and pulls. "If you insist."

"Let's—like this, okay? Rub off on me." He is feeling extraordinarily lazy.

"With pleasure." 

Blaine scoots his pants down under his cheeks. Kurt hears him spit, stroke himself, and then feels the sticky glide of his cock a moment later, snug and throbbing up and down the cleft of Kurt's ass. He pushes himself through the circle of Blaine's fist, while rocking the clench of his cheeks up and down Blaine's cock, breathing out a satisfied sigh.

It's so good—indulgent and drowsy and perfect—and when he comes in Blaine's hand he feels it from his scalp to his toes, a full-bodied wave of jolts that leaves him rubbery all over.

He feels the splatter of come over his lower back and ass when Blaine joins him, rutting hard and fast between his cheeks, catching on his hole. For just a moment, he wants more, wants Blaine to push inside of him, but it's a fleeting wish. The orgasm had been very nice all on its own.

"God, that felt good," Blaine moans, holding him as their muscles tremble.

"I could just pass out again and sleep all day, right here."

Blaine cleans the mess from their skin, and then tugs their pants back up. "Another hour, then. We're halfway to the border. Making good time. We can afford to rest."

Kurt rolls over into Blaine's arms, sinking into the indulgence without argument.

 

*

 

Three days to the border between Essex and Westerville, they have a close encounter with a bear that leaves them both shaken. 

Blaine had been washing clothes in a stream and almost stepped on the poor thing—unarmed and alarmed, he had called for Kurt, who had grabbed his walking stick, and between the two of them waving their arms and shouting they had managed to scare the creature off. 

After the bear there's a wild boar, a mountain cat, and a skunk, all in rapid succession, leaving them frazzled. They don't want to have to kill these animals unnecessarily, as they are only defending themselves against what they perceive to be a threat, but lately the urge to take his bow with him everywhere he goes is overwhelming for Kurt.

Between that, a sudden lack of available game, and getting lost twice—the maps they have are good, but spotty when it comes to border areas—they are running low on patience and strength. By the time that they reach the border, the recovery that they've managed from what had been done to them in Essex is waning under the stress of travel and poor nutrition.

Hardly a single step over the border, Blaine says, "We're on our own land now. There's a stop-over cabin nearby. I think we should use it. We both need rest and food." 

Kurt wavers. 

On the one hand, he truly wants to go home, and if they push the horses they could be there in a week. On the other hand, he's exhausted, and he wants to do what's best for the baby. They are out of food supplies, and the promise of a meal alone is enough to make up his mind for him.

"Just one night," he says, as they urge the horses into a gallop. 

After weeks of living out in the open, the pleasure of four walls and a roof is enough to bring tears of relief to Kurt's eyes. The cabin is larger than most, with a bed big enough for them to share, a clean hearth and food stores of wafers and dried fruit that give them much-needed nutrients. 

While Blaine takes the covers off of the furniture and gets a fire going, Kurt manages to shoot a small forest pig as well as find some decent patches of greens, and tubers beside a nearby stream that are much like the pale green onion bulbs they eat back at home.

Blaine kisses him when he returns with the bounty. "Stopping was a good idea."

They butcher the pig, and put half of the meat to roast over the fire and the other half as well as the bones into a stew pot with the greens. They find a packet of salt and pepper in with the food stores, and it's a treat to actually season their food for once. 

While the food cooks, Kurt goes out back to look for a safe place to empty his bladder and finds, much to his surprise, an outhouse beside a water spigot that has a rusty heating coil at its base. It's old and out of use but it works after some jostling, and when he tells Blaine about it, Blaine drops whatever he's doing to come and see it.

"Excellent," Blaine says. "I thought I saw a bathing tub in the cabin. Let me go get it. We can wash up while the food cooks."

Hot water feels like a miracle. Just dipping his hand into the tub is enough to make Kurt moan aloud—Blaine laughs, and reaches over to tug the ties at the neck of his tunic loose. 

"Allow me, Mr. Hummel," he says, feigning an accent, and Kurt smiles and lets Blaine undress him and take his clothes. He gives Kurt a hand into the tub, and kisses his hair. "I should take the meat off of the fire. Shout if you need me."

The pleasure of a bath is almost indescribable at this point. Kurt takes his time, and when he's through he wraps himself in a clean tunic in lieu of a towel, empties the tub and refills it for Blaine. He goes inside, puts his hands on Blaine's hips, and kisses the back of his neck.

"Your turn," he says, shooing Blaine away from the fire. 

The roasted meat is resting on the cutting board, too hot to eat just yet. Kurt stirs the soup. That done, he sets out the remainder of the crackers and dried fruit. There isn't much in the way of tableware, but there are a couple of spoons and some bowls, so he puts those out, too.

The small fire is warm enough to dry himself by and he does, ruffling his hair and dragging a small cloth over his chest and belly and underarms beneath his tunic.

The enticing smell of the food creates an almost lustful feeling in his body. He's craving salt and fat rather badly; it's been days since they've had anything but greens and water, and even though the wafers and fruit have given him energy, he knows that his body needs protein.

When Blaine comes back in smelling like soap with a towel slung low on his sharp hips, though, Kurt's mouth floods with saliva for a very different reason.

Blaine's thick curls are slicked back. His shoulders and torso, wide tapering to very thin, are still covered in a rainbow of healing bruises and scratches beneath thickly grown in body hair. Kurt knows that he shouldn't find the sight as appealing as he does given the importance of eating a meal right now, but there is more than one kind of hunger inside of him. He bites his lip when Blaine unwraps the towel from his waist and uses it to dry his shoulders.

"Should we let the soup cool, or do you think it's not ready?" Blaine asks.

Kurt stares, his lips parted and his cheeks burning, as the firelight dances over Blaine's body.

When he doesn't say anything, Blaine finally takes note of the look on his face. Blaine goes red over his cheeks and the bridge of nose and smiles, the faintest curve at the corners of his mouth, and he takes the towel from his shoulders with a deliberately slow drag and runs it over his chest and belly, letting the ends dangle in front of his cock and balls and thighs.

Kurt closes his mouth, and swallows heavily. 

The chairs at the table are small and so, despite his height, sitting in them, his gaze is level with Blaine's torso, and he can't stop looking, especially not when Blaine squeezes the towel over his cock in a mockery of drying it, making it stand out against the cloth. Kurt mewls low in his throat and reaches out, grabbing the towel and using it to tug Blaine forward in between his knees.

"Blaine Anderson, I swear," he hisses, so aroused that he can't think. He drapes the towel over the back of the empty chair beside him, and buries his face in Blaine's pubic hair.

"What do you swear?" Blaine asks, sliding a hand around the back of Kurt's neck.

"To have you for the first course," Kurt rasps, dragging the flat of his tongue up Blaine's cock.

"Oh," Blaine moans, bracing his free hand behind him on the table.

In one smooth motion, Kurt rolls Blaine's foreskin back, following its retreat with the purse of his mouth, taking Blaine's cock to the back of his throat, and swallowing hungrily around the head. The feel of him, heavy and hardening, the taste of him, tangy and soap-sharp, is overwhelming, heady, like a swallow of liquor bleeding warmly down Kurt's throat. Kurt moans, bobbing his head and lashing out with his tongue. Blaine clutches the back of his head, not pulling but gripping.

"S-should eat," Blaine whimpers, his body cording up as his hips churn and his belly heaves with accelerated breathing. "Need to—need to keep up our strength—"

Kurt looks up at his husband with his mouth full and his cheeks hollowed, and pulls back long enough to say, "Turn around and bend over the table."

Blaine scrabbles to make room among the bowls and forks—the table is sturdy but small—and when he bends over, Kurt thumbs the plush, hairy cheeks that turn up for him, as lovely as the cleft of a peach. He places wet, open-mouthed kisses all over them, before spreading them apart and suckling Blaine's crack from top to bottom. He's wonderfully clean, and Kurt savors the taste.

"Want to feel you come around my tongue," Kurt says, licking soft and shallow at Blaine's winking pucker. It only takes a few damp passes to reduce Blaine to gibberish, his head and shoulders down on the table and his ass in the air, begging backward with little desperate hitches.

Kurt reaches between his legs and begins pulling at his cock. The salty tang of his sensitive flesh tastes just as heavenly as his cock had, and Kurt seals his mouth over his hole and sucks, spearing it with his tongue over and over again as Blaine's cock goes stiff in his hand.

"Oh my god, please," Blaine pants, backing up onto Kurt's tongue.

"You can come," Kurt says, breathing heavily. "Just open up for me?"

Blaine whimpers and turns his face into his elbow, his knees wobbling as he relaxes his thighs, as his pretty hole swallows Kurt's tongue. He's silky and warm inside and Kurt takes his time, rocking his jaw back and forth, kissing and suckling and licking in and out until Blaine's cock is arching into his hand and Kurt can feel the jiggle of his tight balls inside of their delicate sac move against the heel of his palm.

Kurt feels him come, feels the shaft of his cock pulse and his hips hammer as he spills wet jolts all over the wooden floor beneath the table, so intensely that he doesn't even make a sound, his jaw hanging down and head thrown back. On the last spill he groans, then inhales sharply, twitching all over as Kurt squeezes him, pushes his foreskin down, pinching it over the sensitive head as Kurt milks the last few drops out of him.

Kurt is so hard that he can't move for the risk of coming the second that he presses against his clothes, but Blaine is already sliding off the table, turning, grasping his jaw and kissing him.

"Dinner?" Kurt asks, panting.

"Put your cock inside of me," Blaine growls, helping him to stand, then drawing him down onto the bed that's just a few feet away.

"Oh," Kurt breathes, his mind going blank as Blaine tumbles onto his stomach, spreads his legs and puts his ass in the air.

"If—if you can—I just—" Blaine stutters, guilty, his mouth trembling and slack as he stares at Kurt hard cock trapped below his high, round belly.

As if a shift in his center of gravity and a bit of exhaustion is going to keep Kurt out of _that_.

Kurt kneels on the bed carefully, one hand on the mattress, and scoots up on his knees between Blaine's lean thighs. His ass is spread, its hole shining with saliva, pink at the center and dusky brown-pink-red around the abused rim, framed by dark, coarse hair. Kurt whips off his tunic.

Slotting his heavy, hugely rounded belly into the dip of Blaine's back is awkward but he does it with a grunt, and then angles Blaine's ass into the curve created by the underside of his belly and the front of his thighs. His cock jumps, eager for friction, as Blaine grapples for the bottle of oil in his satchel beside the bed. Kurt takes it, his fingers shaking, and gets it everywhere in his haste to put his slick hand on his cock, and then beneath his stomach on Blaine's crack.

"Please," Blaine whimpers, rising on his knees high enough to send Kurt's cock skidding between his cheeks. His skin is hot, and his hole is gaping, seeking pressure, wanting to be filled so badly. "God, your belly is so heavy, can feel so much of you, pressing me down, p-please. So big and full with my child, Kurt, I can't—just get inside, I'll do all the work."

Kurt can't bend down to kiss Blaine's neck or shoulders the way that he wants to. He can't pull back and slam forward the way that he wants to, either, but this has to be enough for now. He braces his free hand on Blaine's cheek to hold him open and slots against his pucker, then lets his weight carry him down, allowing gravity to do the work of pushing his cock inside.

"Y-yes, yes, god, don't stop, I'm fine," Blaine chants, clutching the edge of the mattress and sinking back onto Kurt as Kurt sinks into him. "That's it. Mm, that's my big boy inside of me."

Kurt's pulse races and his skin burns—he sucks in a breath as he bottoms out, sets his knees and begins rolling, pushing deep, then lifting to relieve the pressure, then falling down again, working Blaine open by degrees. When the glide is smooth and feels less like a pinch he huffs out a breath and settles into a rhythm, rocking inside of that hot, slick clench with abandon.

It's less thrusting and more grinding, and he's frustrated with his inability to maintain the pace that he would have before the pregnancy, but Blaine doesn't seem to have any complaints; his thighs spread and his back flushes, dotted with clean sweat, his shoulders bunching as he takes it, whining high-pitched gasps tearing his throat in two.

He doesn't get hard again, and doesn't seem to need to; he just thrusts his plump ass back into every thrust, until Kurt begins to stutter, and then he looks over his shoulder, his face red, his hair a mess, and says, "Don't wait for me, I just—I just needed you."

Kurt's balls tighten at that, at the love on his face, at the fist of his body, and Kurt groans, digs his fingernails into Blaine's ass until the skin goes white around them, and comes with a cry, his pelvis jacking back and forth. 

Blaine closes up around him. "Yes, sweetheart, that's—god, so much."

"I need to, um, sorry, everything is cramping up and my back is—"

"S-sorry, damn, sorry, come here." Blaine helps him lie down on his side, then brings back a cloth to clean them off, gently cleaning his softening cock almost as if in apology. "I'm going to dish us up some food and drag a chair over so that we can eat together while you lie down."

They eat deliciously charred and salted strips of pork alongside steaming bowls of soup and crackers, dipping the stale wafers into the broth to soften them. After their bowls are empty Blaine brings a clean, damp cloth for their hands, and a handful of dried apples for their dessert.

Kurt feels a thousand times better with food in his stomach. He leans back into the pillows piled against the headboard and closes his eyes. Blaine's hand tightens in his and he smiles, letting the peaceful feeling that this creates drift through him.

"This was a very good idea," he says.

"We should sleep as long as we can, and then set out, though," Blaine says. "We need to let my family know what's happened. We need to be ready to assist Adam."

Kurt opens his eyes just in time to see the conflicted look on Blaine's face. "Are you still very angry with him? You seemed to part amicably enough."

"They killed three of my kin," Blaine says, his eyes going distant. "They only allowed Gregory to live because they wanted to send a message to my family. Adam stood by and watched as that happened. He said nothing. Did nothing. I can't forgive him for that. Not yet."

Kurt sighs. "I don't disagree with you."

"But?"

"Grief is a devastating and often a blinding thing," Kurt says. "I think that Adam broke the hold that it had over him when he grew strong enough to do so. I think that he has the right to make amends. I don't think that he should be held directly responsible for his father's crimes. He isn't innocent, but what he's guilty of isn't murder."

Blaine stares off into the embers of their dying fire. "You may be right. You may be thinking too idealistically."

Kurt shrugs, and then tugs Blaine's hand. "Possibly. Come to bed?"

He sets the chair aside and climbs under the blankets, drawing Kurt's back against his chest and putting a hand on Kurt's belly, as he has every night since it was big enough to cradle his arm.

"I love you," he says, sounding sad. "I love you both." His fingers sweep up and down Kurt's belly.

"And we love you," Kurt says, kissing his hair. "Sleep."

They sleep well, with every intention of setting out early—but Kurt wakes to Blaine inching his tunic up in search of the puffy protrusion of his nipples before he even opens his eyes.

"B-Blaine?" Kurt asks, moaning, as he's rolled over onto his back.

Blaine suckles each nipple in turn. His cheeks are bright pink and his mouth is swollen. "Are you—" He goes silent, framing Kurt's heaving belly between his hands, dragging his thumbs along its slope, his wide eyes following the path. "God, you are beautiful." He drops kisses down Kurt's pale, stretched skin, all the way to the bottom, where Kurt can't even see, his belly is that high.

Blaine tips his hips up, so that his belly and cock fall back, and before Kurt can ask him what he was about to ask, he's nuzzling below Kurt's balls and in between Kurt's cheeks, hungry and open-mouthed, eating at his hole like a man possessed.

"Blaine," Kurt sobs, lifting his legs. His belly is huge between his thighs, almost obscenely so.

He's overwhelmed, his mind one step behind his body's reaction as Blaine's saliva drips down his crack, as the wet smacking suck of Blaine's mouth on his hole grows louder and louder.

"Oh my god," he moans, holding the backs of his knees. His body aches and burns, but it feels so good, he can't bear to ask Blaine to stop. "Oh my god, Blaine—"

Blaine pulls off to breathe, one hand still holding Kurt open. "Need to be inside of this beautiful ass. If you're up for it?"

Kurt had used the facilities in the middle of the night, so he is more than okay with that. He whimpers, fumbles for the oil on the bedside table and hands it over.

He needs this. He needs this so badly.

Blaine dribbles oil all over his hand, panting and crazed as he strokes it over his cock, which shines in the early morning light once it's coated. Kurt's mouth fills with saliva. His body is clenching, greedy and wanting, and they don't need to speak for Blaine to understand that.

Blaine lifts Kurt's ass, forcing his legs and belly back even farther, even higher. "That's it," he croons, pushing the tip of his cock against Kurt's rim. "Let me in. Going to make it feel so good."

"Please," Kurt whimpers, his bent legs wobbling in the air above his torso. "Please, please."

Blaine presses in, holding his breath, and when he's seated to the root Kurt exhales audibly and braces his heels against Blaine's shoulders, bearing down around his cock.

"Oh, god, yes, honey," Blaine pants, rolling his hips. 

"Stay inside," Kurt says, curling his toes into Blaine's collarbone. "Stay inside, just move."

Blaine begins grinding, steady and evenly paced. "Like that?"

"Yes, yes, just don't pull out," Kurt says, feeling his belly sway with every thrust. It feels so good when Blaine stays inside and just rocks, making him feel every inch without sliding out.

Blaine takes it slow, riding Kurt down against the bed, and when they're just beginning to grow sweaty he slides his hands up and around Kurt's belly, pressing it beneath his wide palms.

"God, look at you. So big. So hard. Swollen up like ripe fruit." He pants, shifts forward on his knees and begins to move a little faster. "You have no idea what you do to me. Looking at you like this—I'm hard more often than I'm soft. I just want to open you up, be inside of you, make you come, all the time." He bends low to kiss Kurt's belly, panting over the dry, warm skin. "All mine," he whispers, dragging his mouth across it, "all mine."

"All yours," Kurt gasps, bending.

Blaine sits back on his knees, reaching between them to stroke Kurt as he pumps in and out of Kurt's ass. "Come for me," he says, his fist flying, "want to watch you clench up around my cock."

Kurt whines, leaning up on his elbows to ease some of the pressure on his back as his orgasm builds. He can't see anything, and it's annoying him, but how can he argue when Blaine is stroking him like that, and he's so close and so perfectly full?

"Oh," he cries, and comes, feeling the wet splatter across Blaine's hand and his thighs rather than seeing it. The orgasm peters out along his spine, leaving him a puddle on the bed.

"Your back is bothering you," Blaine says.

"Y-yeah," he pants, letting his legs down onto the bed.

"Turn over?"

Kurt grins. "Is that for your benefit or mine?"

"I have pillows?" Blaine offers by way of reply, and earns a giggle for his evasion.

Kurt grunts, and rolls over. The pillows under his belly and chest and hips do help the ache in his back, especially after he wraps his hands around the headboard and stretches.

"Oh, that's better," he sighs, as Blaine scoots up behind him, bends over his back and kisses the nape of his neck.

"So beautiful on your hands and knees like this," Blaine whispers, dragging the length of his cock between Kurt's cheeks. Kurt turns his head and kisses Blaine's jaw.

"Mm, get back inside of me, you," he drawls, reaching back to guide Blaine's cock.

It's much better for him, this way—he holds onto the headboard and is able to leverage his body with less discomfort, his head tilted back and his face slack with pleasure as Blaine's fat cock pushes back inside of him and settles. He begins to rock on his knees, his belly swaying heavily beneath him, and Blaine holds him by his waist and lets him set the pace.

"Feels so good," Blaine says. "Taking my cock all the way. God, honey, missed this so much."

Kurt begins to move faster, his knuckles going white around the headboard. Blaine's fingers tease his back and the curve of his swaying, pregnant belly. Deep and grinding slow is exactly where and how he wants his husband's cock right now—the pressure and the movement are perfect, warming him from head to toe, so lovely inside that he feels he could just stay here for hours like this, rocked full of cock until he falls asleep with it still inside of him.

He slips into a lull, feeling his heart pound and his skin sweat and his spent cock tap against his belly between his legs. His eyes close, his spine goes loose, and he just _takes it_.

Blaine kisses the center of his back, where his spine is curved inward, as Blaine's hips gently collide with his in time with each plunge of his cock. "Feeling okay?" he asks, breathless.

"Y-yes," Kurt murmurs, his eyelids fluttering. "Perfect. So perfect."

Blaine kisses behind his ear, wrapping his arms around Kurt's belly, molding his body to Kurt's back and ass. He drops his voice. "Love you." He begins rocking faster, pushing Kurt against the headboard, so that Kurt has to reassert his hold on it to stop from being driven against it. "N-need to come." His fingers trace Kurt's heaving belly, trembling. "God, need to—"

Kurt reaches down with one hand to catch Blaine's right, and laces their fingers over the curve of his belly. His pulse spikes as Blaine stops holding back, holds him around his waist and hammers into him, relentless and deep and quick, stretching his ass to its limit. His body shakes, and the bed shakes, and Blaine pants against the back of his head and holds him still.

His cock is twitching, wants to be hard again, but it's not quite there, tapping the underside of his belly as Blaine takes his own pleasure.

Kurt tightens himself up, and feels Blaine inhale. "Come," he breathes, overwhelmed and trembling on his knees, "come in me." 

He wants it, with a feral hunger that he can't explain.

By the time that Blaine comes with a low gasp, biting the back of his shoulder, Kurt is almost fully hard again, his cock bobbing in mid-air, practically begging for a touch. He savors the feel of Blaine panting and heavy over his back, shaking as Blaine's cock shrinks inside of him.

"Oh," Blaine says, reaching below his belly. "Why didn't you say?"

Kurt whimpers as Blaine's hand closes around him. "Wasn't sure if I could—oh, god, touch it. Touch it, please." Blaine gathers some stray oil off of Kurt's skin, and then wraps his slick hand around Kurt's length. "Oh. Oh, god, yes."

He strokes Kurt's cock, firm and slow, from root to tip, and then just around the tip, twisting his wrist. "There we go," he says, tugging. "Is my big boy going to come for me again?"

"Oh, my god, don't stop—"

He's too soft to stay inside, but he replaces his cock with three of his fingers, pushing them in to the last knuckle and applying a deep, focused pressure down and in against Kurt's prostate.

"Blaine, oh, god, oh my god," Kurt babbles, the orgasm that he hadn't thought himself capable of coiling like a snake between his legs. Blaine begins roughly jacking the weight of his hand against Kurt's ass, behind the dig of his fingers, while his other hand squeezes the head of Kurt's cock rhythmically. It's slick, and hot, and Blaine is hitting every spot just right.

Kurt falls down onto his hands when he comes, his elbows hitting the mattress and his upper body sloping down the bed, his ass rising as his cock jerks and spills weakly, his hole throbbing around Blaine's fingers.

"Oh my god," he gasps, and they collapse together, Kurt rolling onto his side and Blaine curling up behind him.

Blaine laughs, kissing his shoulder blades. "That was incredible."

Kurt actually can't speak. His body is twitching, his throat is dry from making noise, and he has to admit that he's just as uncomfortable as he is pleasured—between the pregnancy and the horse riding and this exertion, his body is not happy with him.

"I'm going to need that bathing tub before we go," he says, with a groan. 

"Oh, honey. Was it too much? I—I wish you'd have stopped me when I asked, if—"

"Letting my body rest is just allowing all of the stress to catch up with it, I think."

"I'll draw you a bath, get together some breakfast, and then pack up," Blaine says, kissing his sweat-dotted bicep. "Don't lift a finger, okay?"

"Taking you up on that today," Kurt says, exhausted.

 

*

 

The last leg of their journey home is difficult for them both, but especially for Kurt. 

He could sleep twelve hours a day if he were allowed the luxury at this point in the pregnancy. He has constant headaches and trouble keeping food down. He lags behind when they're riding, and several times now he has almost fallen off of his horse at midday with the sun beating down on them through the trees, making him warm and drowsy. 

He feels as if his body has stopped listening to him. He hates it.

Blaine suggests that they pause more often, but when it comes down to it neither of them wants to be on the road any longer than they have to be. He offers to share his saddle with Kurt, but Kurt's belly makes that awkward, and slows them down to the point where it's doing more harm than good in terms of their progress. They finally decide to strap Kurt in to his saddle with a spare belt, so that if he falls asleep riding he'll at least be able to catch himself.

Things only grow progressively worse from there.

They lose their pack mare to a mountain cat, and feel terrible about it—the horse had been a gift, and has been a good companion. Thankfully, their supplies have dwindled to almost nothing, so it's not a hardship to divide what's left between their saddlebags and move on at the same pace.

They don't recover quite as well from the melancholy that the loss brings, though.

One morning, Kurt throws up before he even makes it to the trees to do his business, and in seconds Blaine is at his side, a hand on Kurt's forehead and a worried look on his face.

When Kurt tries to brush off his concern, he says, "You've never thrown up on an empty stomach during the pregnancy before."

"It must be the heat," Kurt says.

"What if it's not?"

"Blaine, we have to keep moving. We're so close."

"There is a destination closer than the manor."

Kurt pauses, and then asks, "What do you mean?"

"Your village," Blaine says. "We'll pass it a full day before we make the compound. We can leave the horses there, borrow a transport and make it to the compound in five hours."

"I—yes, we could do that."

"Good," Blaine replies, smiling. "Come on. Sit in front of me. We can stand to go slower today if we will be in Lima by nightfall."

Kurt isn't sure why they hadn't thought of this before. It's an excellent idea.

Well—except for the embarrassment of showing up on his dad's doorstep after leaving on a rescue mission with nothing more than a note to explain.

They've been alone on the road for so long, hiding from people and using only the most abandoned routes. The last conversation they had had with someone other than each other had been with Adam and Ethan on the night of their escape. Kurt isn't sure what state he will find his village or his family in, and feels guilty about how he'd departed Westerville.

This, however, is the least of his troubles.

He can't stop vomiting and then, when there is nothing left in his stomach to vomit up, he can't stop dry-heaving. By dusk he's running a fever, and by the time that they reach Lima's borders he's swimming in and out of consciousness.

Blaine is trying to keep him calm, but Kurt can see the panic on his face. They're in trouble.

In the yard in front of his family's cabin, Blaine ties the horses to a fence, hoists Kurt in his arms—which is not easy, as he is smaller than Kurt, and weak from abuse and hard travel—and carries him across the lawn. Finn answers the door, and almost slams it in their faces in surprise.

"Blaine! Kurt! What—where—"

Blaine forces his way inside, Kurt almost a dead weight in his arms.

"We don't have time to explain how we got here. I need your fastest transport—I don't care if it's guild approved or not—fueled and ready to go as quickly as you can make it."

"What's going on?" Finn blurts, staring wide-eyed at their appearances.

"Do it!" Blaine barks. "I'm going to grab a few things, and then I need you to drive us to the compound, as fast but as safely as you can manage."

When Finn is gone, Kurt blinks his eyes open. He had meant to say something, but—

"Is it the baby?" Blaine asks, his voice breaking.

"It has to be," Kurt answers, barely above a whisper. "I don't feel well. Blaine. Blaine, I need—I need a doctor. S-something is wrong. I can't feel him. I can't feel him, Blaine, please—"

"We'll be home soon. Don't go to sleep. Stay with me. Don't go to sleep, Kurt."

Kurt would love to obey, but the room is already going dark.

 

*

 

Blaine thought that he'd known fear before. 

Fear of bad decision making. Fear of losing family and friends in the depths of Winter. Fear at the heart of a dungeon, taking a beating again and again on the orders of a man who he once considered a friend. Fear in loving someone so much that the thought of losing them was just as intense, just as multifaceted, as the love itself. Fear of never being good enough. Fear of failure, of losing face, of not becoming the man that his family had hoped he would become.

He would live a dozen lifetimes' worth of nothing but those fears in exchange for getting Kurt and their child through the next few days alive and whole.

Finn drives like a madman, but today this is a good thing.

Blaine, in the backseat of the transport with Kurt wrapped in a blanket in his arms, is using every resource that he possesses to stay calm, to support Kurt's limp body with his and keep talking to him even though he most likely can't hear a word that Blaine is saying.

Blaine is so afraid, so mortally, horribly afraid, that he can't cry. He can't feel. He can only exist, and ride the slope of this horror through to its conclusion—the compound, the hospital, the doctors. He repeats it like a mantra: _the compound, the hospital, the doctors_.

_The compound, the hospital, the doctors._

Finn is trying to talk to him, trying to get him to listen.

"—minute he got that note he was gone. He sent for Mom later and they've been at your place ever since. Your parents wouldn't authorize a rescue mission—said that if we sent a band of people into Essex uninvited we'd be endangering your lives even more. They've been trying to get a group together anyway, but so far they haven't had much luck—everyone was just so scared, and when you both didn't come back—"

Blaine listens, but doesn't hear. He keeps jostling Kurt to keep him at the very least partially conscious, panic like shards of glass ripping the inside of his chest apart.

They are the longest five hours of his life. He waits for Kurt to slip away from him. He counts every heartbeat, every shallow breath, and praises each one more than the last. He had never thought that such simple signs of life could bring this kind of body-shaking relief.

He does not care if his parents strip them of their office the moment that they return, if it means Kurt resting safely in the hands of their doctors, in their clean hospital, being taken care of.

The gates open in front of them in the dark like friendly sentinels. Blaine breathes, and waits, and breathes, and waits, and when the transport skids to a halt in front of the hospital, he's on the gravel before the transport even comes to a full stop.

He doesn't realize that his knees are giving out until Finn reaches out to take Kurt from him, hoisting Kurt across both of his arms as if Kurt weighs no more than firewood.

"Let me," Finn says, looking upset. "He's—he's my brother, and you're not looking so great."

"Thank you," Blaine says. "Please, let's go."

The white-washed, brightly lit interior of the hospital is blinding when compared to the inky blackness outside, and Blaine squints to see clearly as he rushes beside Finn into the foyer.

The young man at the front desk stares at them, and stutters, "B-Blaine—Kurt!"

"The baby is due," Blaine gasps out, "please, surgery—the doctor—now. No time."

He disappears at a run, and Finn sets Kurt down into a soft chair.

"I should get your family," he says, looking awkward as well as frightened.

"Yes, please," Blaine says, and falls to his knees beside Kurt. 

When they're alone, he wraps his arms around Kurt, his teeth grinding and his heart racing. He feels like being sick. His whole body is flashing hot and cold with panic. He can't parse out one rush of fear from the next. They're all the same, and beginning to form one never ending blur. 

"Stay with me," he says. "Stay with me. Stay with me. Kurt, stay with me."

Doctor Mereen arrives, dressed in every day clothes, and swoops down on them like a bird of prey, prying Blaine's hands off of Kurt so that she can put a finger to Kurt's wrist to check his pulse. She doesn't greet Blaine, or waste time acting surprised to see them.

She shouts, "Stretcher, now," and takes Blaine's arm, forcing him to stand. "How long has he been like this?"

"Eight hours or so. He's been sickly for about twelve—he woke this morning throwing up, and four hours later he became feverish and began to go under for periods of time." 

Blaine feels the words coming out of his mouth, but it's like he's floating above himself, hearing how weak and stupid and pointless he sounds. 

"Was he wounded or physically mishandled in any way prior to that?" 

"Restraints on his wrists and ankles, but other than that, no. We've been on the road for a long time, though—he's been riding hard, and not eating well. We had no other choice."

She takes Kurt's tunic and pants off right there, leaving him in his underwear as she probes here and there, her eyes flickering over his skin. She puts a hand on his stomach—the skin over the organ is blazing hot to the touch, Blaine had noticed, and it's swollen, as if the organ is pressing against it. She lifts his eyelids, checks his pupils, and by then the stretcher has arrived.

"Get him into surgery bay three, prep him—but no drugs, not until I get there. Move."

Blaine stands there, feeling as useless as he has ever felt in his life.

"Please," he begs, dignity forgotten, "please tell me that we're not too late."

"I can't tell you anything," she says. "Not until he's open and I can see what's going on." She grips his shoulders, gives him a shake, and adds in a hissing whisper, "We should have had days to prepare for this. We don't. And so I don't have the time to coddle you, young man." She squeezes him. "If he makes it past the first stage of surgery, I will send someone for you."

He lets out a whimper at the word _if_ , but she's already left him standing there.

Kurt, on the stretcher and fully unconscious, is disappearing down the hall.

"Kurt," he cries, jolting in place. "Kurt! Don't leave me. Kurt, stay with me! Kurt! Kurt!"

The doors behind him burst open. His parents, Burt, Carole, Trent, and Finn come rushing in. 

"Blaine," his mother cries, rushing forward to fling her arms around him. His father is just behind her. They form a circle around him with their arms, and Blaine can't bring himself to care about the political drama that has kept him away. He collapses into their embrace like a child.

"They took him," he says. "They t-took him already, he's in surgery, the baby is—they took him, they took him, I can't—I have to go back there, you have to make them let me go back there, they _took_ him!"

"Where is my son?" Burt demands, Carole clutching his arm. "I want to see my son."

"He's—surgery," Blaine says, shrinking.

Burt twitches, his face bright red, his fingers trembling as he jabs them at Blaine. "If I never get to speak to him again—"

"Burt," Carole whispers, shaking her head. "Blaine's not to blame. Don't."

Blaine's parents look miserable, but they defensively clutch Blaine to them. When they let go, finally, to allow Blaine to breathe, Trent is there, and Blaine finally notices him, and whimpers, a mixture of relief that his best friend is here and pain for the thing that had separated them.

"Blaine," Trent whispers, and slides his arms around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine ducks down into Trent's body, snuffling into his collar until it's soaked with tears and snot. "You're okay. You're okay, darling, you're okay." Blaine's knees give out, and Trent sinks to the floor with him.

Burt begins interrogating the staff to find out when they will be allowed to see Kurt. Finn goes to get them all something to drink. Trent holds Blaine there on the cold floor, stroking his hair, with Blaine's parents on chairs behind them, hovering protectively.

When the initial rush of confusion and anger passes, Blaine begins to feel his body again, the painful, wet expansion of his lungs, his stuffy nose and puffy eyes, his tingling extremities, and his violent trembling.

No one asks, but he begins to speak anyway, telling them what had happened in clipped, badly arranged sentences, not even cataloging their reactions, just talking into dead air because if he doesn't do something with himself, he's going to crack.

They all stop listening when a surgeon comes from the back, her tunic blood-stained. Blaine bites back a sob. He's on his feet and grappling with the woman's arm before Trent can stop him.

"I want to see him," he says, uncaring, unfeeling, "now. Take me back there. I don't care what it looks like, I don't care what's happening— _take me to him_."

The woman sets her chin and nods, neither smiling nor frowning. "Doctor Mereen is willing to allow you and Kurt's father in for the remainder of the surgery. You must wash first, and put on gloves and robes and face masks. Follow me."

The rest of the family stands there, unable to protest, and Blaine will feel badly about it later—nothing else matters but that he is by Kurt's side, even if Kurt is too deep under to know it.

He doesn't remember anything about washing or dressing. 

The smell in the surgery bay is frightening and immediately recognizable.

Blaine looks at Burt, and thinks that if fear could be captured by a single expression, it would be the one on his father-in-law's face right now. Without thinking about it he reaches down, takes Burt's hand and squeezes it. Burt's mouth trembles, and he squeezes Blaine's hand in return.

Doctor Mereen is doing more supervising than surgery, though she's blood-spattered to her elbows, and when they walk in she looks up. They can see Kurt's legs, but there's a cloth curtain blocking the view from his knees up.

"Please stay there," she says. 

There are bloodied surgical tools, two surgeons and three assistants all shuffling around the table. There are machines, some modern and some ancient. Kurt is hooked up to them all at various points along his body. Blaine doesn't understand it, and can't bring himself to wonder.

Once she has finished whatever task she was in the middle of when they walked in, she steps away, strips off her gloves, washes her hands and walks over to them, tugging her mask down.

"Right," she says, nodding at them, obviously relieved that they had honored her request that only they two come back. "I will not lie to you—he's not out of the woods yet."

Blaine's heart slams against the wall of his chest. His eyes mist over. He can't breathe. 

The world narrows dangerously, and Burt holds him upright.

"But by all rights, he should have fallen under the strain already. The organ has been dormant for at least three days."

Burt's jaw is trembling, and he looks as if he can't put what she's saying into context. "You aren't giving me much good news here, doc." His voice breaks, and this only makes Blaine more afraid.

"The good news is, even though I can't explain the how or the why of it, Kurt and the baby are alive and stable." She pauses. "The bad news is that we are still very much in the danger zone at present. We need to proceed very carefully. Certain parts of the organ must be closed off from the rest of the body and after that, opening it, even at the points where it is designed to be opened, is a tricky business—complications at this stage are what usually lead to miscarriage and sometimes the death of the carrier. Speed is required but at the same time our enemy—do you understand what I am saying?"

"You're working against time," Blaine whispers, staring past the doctor at Kurt's legs, so pale, so lifeless on the table, the machines whirring and beeping and hissing around him forming a meaningless blur of color and sound. "If you rush, you could hurt or kill them. If you go too slowly, they could die waiting for you to finish."

"Correct," she says, and then her voice softens. "Blaine. Look at me." He jerks his eyes to hers. "He's a fighter. That he made it this far is proof of that. Believe in that strength, and be strong for them in return."

Tears stream down his cheeks. He nods, trying to hold his head high.

She turns to Burt. "The same goes for you, sir. You may both stay, if you wish."

Blaine had thought that the hours in the transport driving from Lima to the compound had been the longest of his life—he has never been so wrong. 

As the night wears on and the machines continue to beep and the smell of blood and flesh becomes almost normal, they sit very still in the corner of the room.

And then, in the dead of night, Burt begins to speak to him.

"The day that Kurt was born," he says, his voice rough, "it was raining so hard that we barely got the transport through the mud. This was before the new hospital was built, and the old one was this awful little cabin, no bigger than our house is now. Kurt's mom went into labor and I—I thought I was prepared, you know? Had to push the damned transport the last few hundred yards. Could've walked there faster, but we were both so young and stupid." He swallows. "She was a trooper, my Liz. She pushed Kurt out like it was a walk in the park and starting asking about when she could go home before they even finished cleaning her off. He was—so small. They don't tell you that when babies come out they're just—these little wrinkled messy smelly screaming things that you don't automatically understand. You're so lost, so—worried, every second, because you know that you can screw up a thousand times a day with them and no one will be there to tell you how to fix it or—be better. It's on the job training, for sure." He laughs, wet and frightened and horrible, and Blaine's eyes fill with tears. But he's listening. "You even think for a second, is this gonna work? Is this tiny creature going to know who I am, going to love me, going to grow up listening to me every minute and still turn out okay?" He smiles. "And then you realize, you can teach them and love them and watch over them and they still turn around and grow up and become whatever the heck they wanna be, and—you think, why did they even need me, huh? And then they—they become adults, and they start doing their own thing, and making their own decisions, and picking the people who they want around them, and you see little things—little bits of you in them, and you realize that it's not either or. They don't spring up independent of you, but they don't just copy everything that you do and say, either—it's a little of both. And by the time that you realize that, they're gone, off on their own adventures. Empty nest. If you're smart you remembered to have a life of your own somewhere in there, and you've got work or hobbies or other people to keep you company, but nothing will bring you the same pleasure and pride that you feel when you see your kid leaving their mark on the world." He lifts a hand, and points to the table. "You see that man there? He's the best thing I ever did. You could set my research on fire, destroy every engine I ever built, and I would smile and point my finger at Kurt and say, 'that you can't take away from me'." Tears spill down his face, and he wipes them away with the back of his arm. "And pretty soon, you're gonna say the same things. Feel the same things—in your own way, of course. Because my son is gonna fight tooth and nail to stay alive and bring that baby into this world. And he is gonna come back to you, I know that for a fact. There is nothing that's gonna keep him from you, Blaine. You hear me?" He grabs Blaine's shoulder, and makes Blaine face him. "Not a damned thing."

Blaine nods, shaking and crying, and lets his father-in-law hold him through it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some mentions of blood and related talk of surgery.

At dawn, an assistant brings Blaine and Burt tea and buttered bread. They go out into the hall to eat it, and then wash up and return to the surgery bay. 

The young woman tells them that their family is sleeping on cots in the hospital, will be there if they need anything, and don't intend to leave until Blaine asks them to. Trent is making runs to the house just to make sure that everything is going alright and Anna, who had been off-compound last night, is home and covering today so that no one else has to. 

Blaine wants to feel something about that, but he doesn't have any leftover emotion to invest.

The world is hazy in front of his eyes—he is so tired that he can't move his mouth to speak, and he has no idea how he had even chewed his bread or swallowed his tea. Everything feels unreal, as if he's dreaming with his eyes open, and when Burt puts a blanket around him and encourages his head down onto his shoulder, he doesn't so much fall asleep as fall unconscious. He can't stay awake a moment longer, even though he wants to.

He swims in and out of coma-like jogs of sleep, his eyes snapping awake every hour for several hours, feeling as if no time has passed when it has, and then the opposite, as if hours have gone by when it has been only minutes. Each time he wakes Burt tells him that there has been no change, and to go back to sleep. Blaine wants to ask Burt if he's managing to rest as well and, if he isn't, it doesn't seem fair, but he just keeps sliding back under.

The world shrinks around this suspended reality, until it seems as if there has never been anything else but the smell of the hospital, antiseptics and the sweet, rotten smell of blood, the quiet shuffle of the surgeons, their low voices, the clink of their instruments, the occasional noise of water and air in surgical hoses, and the beep of the machines.

And his Kurt, his beautiful Kurt, spread out on the table like a slab of meat—still, so horribly still. Just a bag of bones and organs and muscles and tissue that they are trying desperately to keep alive. Blaine feels horrendous, thinking about Kurt that way, but he's so scared, and so tired, and he just wants Kurt back. He would do anything to see those eyes open and look at him again.

One of the assistants tries to feed them lunch, but Blaine can't manage it. He drinks a cup of water, and when he's done she clears her throat and he actually looks at her, feeling rude.

"S-sorry," he says, "I'm—"

"Don't worry," she replies, and presses a square of dark green cloth into his hands. He doesn't understand at first, and she adds, "We found this in his clothes. I think it might be for the baby?"

"Oh," he says, staring down at the square, at its brown edges and the pattern stitched into it. If Kurt had had this on him, he must have been carrying it since he left Westerville. Blaine's throat closes up. He picks at the cloth, and his heart hurts. "Oh, thank you. That's—good, thank you." 

She pats his hand and leaves them.

He isn't sure how much of the day has passed when Doctor Mereen comes for them, finally. She's been swapping herself and her surgeons in shifts to make sure that they remain alert, and he'd noticed her come in from a side room, suit up, and stand by the table for a short while not long ago. Now she's in front of them, and he's instantly lucid.

"Doctor," he says, "is—how is—" She smiles, and that's all it takes—he sobs in the back of his throat, and reaches out to clutch her hand.

"We have the organ where it needs to be, and the incisions are being made now. Kurt is doing well, and the baby's heartbeat is strong."

Burt deflates with relief, and releases his death grip on Blaine's shoulder.

"Are we—are we still in danger of—"

"I would say not, but let's see how the organ looks once the baby is out."

"C-can we see? I, I mean—Kurt won't be awake for that, will he? But he'll—he won't be awake when the baby—"

"No, unfortunately," she says, and leads them closer to the table. "That is one of the drawbacks of carrier birth, at least in our time."

He doesn't want to see Kurt splayed open on the table, can't imagine seeing that lovely face blank under bits of tape and tubes and lines, but she doesn't allow them to come that far, instead leaving them to stand at the end of the table. Up close, it's all so mechanical and cold, and Blaine wants to take Kurt home, but knows that he can't.

The staff talk quietly to each other, passing instruments back and forth. Doctor Mereen takes the lead position. Blaine can't see what she's doing, but there are wet noises that make him whimper in concern, the clink of metal on metal, the suck of a hose, and ball after ball of bloody linen.

"Alright," she croons, "triad release, fifth generation, not a surprise, we knew that already—it's gorgeous, look at that detail. Can we get an imprint of the lab bar code for the records, please? Thank you. He's a very lucky young man. Suction? Lever under the second connection point, the first released when it went dormant, also not a surprise. I don't want to pop the third until we're sure. Thank you, there we go. Fluid is almost entirely drained, good, good. Let's sever the lung stasis chord, this baby wants to breathe on its own again, I think." There's a pause, and then she says, "Suction, small bulb. Thank you. Okay, I need an extra hand here. Looking good. Popping the third release. I need everyone's full attention. Get those beefy forearms ready." 

Her team seems to find that amusing. Blaine, for his part, is just holding his breath. Burt's fingers around his forearm have cut off all of the feeling in his left hand. He hardly notices.

"Compression, on four, okay," she says, and her breath catches as she moves, "stuff that before it collapses, I'm going to need to assess the viability—here we go, alright, breathe for me."

Blaine's body jerks forward, and just as he takes the one step that allows him to see the gray, wrinkled, blood and tissue smeared lump in her arms, the baby opens its mouth and begins to shriek, shrill high-pitched cries that become wails in seconds. The noise bounces off of the walls and ceiling, filling the bright surgery bay with sound.

It's the most beautiful sound that Blaine has ever heard. He avoids hitting the floor then and there only because Burt grabs him around the waist and hauls him back up.

Blaine can't stop staring. He isn't sure what he'd expected, but this little thing with its flailing arms and angry, scrunched up face wasn't it. He opens his mouth and starts sucking in lungfuls of air—it doesn't feel like the air reaches his lungs, and his head is swimming—and then huffs them out, his throat expanding and contracting. Burt lets him walk them forward a few more steps.

One of the assistants is cradling the baby in a surgical blanket in his arms.

Doctor Mereen, looking very relieved, says, "Blaine Anderson—meet your son."

He doesn't notice Burt staring at him, beaming brightly enough to light up the room. He can't take his eyes off of the baby. He wants to reach out, but he isn't sure if he should, and he is suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that he might hurt the baby, do something stupid like drop him or squeeze too hard or hold him incorrectly.

"Go on," Burt says, nudging him. "It's okay."

The moment that he feels the weight of that warm in his arms, the fear evaporates, replaced by a kind of awe that he has never felt in his life, and a protectiveness that makes his skin hurt. 

He wishes that Kurt were awake.

"Hello, little one," he says, and for the first time he gets to see a reaction to the words that he has spoken so many times to the curve of Kurt's belly—the twist and squirm of the baby's body, his eyes rolling around the room, discovering the outside world.

Blaine doesn't want to let the baby go, but they have to take his weight and measurements and get him cleaned up and swaddled. He is allowed to stay there for all of this, and none of it takes very long. He's torn between wanting to immediately ask about Kurt and wanting to ask for his son again, but the assistant is talking to him, and he needs to focus.

"If he were conscious we would immediately have him take the baby—contact is important. But he isn't, so would you like to do the honors?" 

The baby has been wrapped in a swaddling cloth and is wearing a little cap. He looks a bit cleaner and less fussy, and even though Blaine is terrified, he wants more than anything to hold him, so he agrees—he takes the baby in his arms, cradling him close, cupping his hands the way that the assistant tells him to. Blaine almost can't believe that he exists. Burt sits next to him, and though Blaine can't bring himself to let go just yet, he lets Burt stroke the baby's cheek.

"I can't tell which one of us he looks like, really," Blaine says, still in shock. "Don't we need to feed him?" he asks the assistant.

"He'll be fine for a few hours. We'd like to try and wait for Kurt to wake up and see if the baby will latch first before we start him on formula."

"Is Kurt—sewn up?"

"Yes. He should come around once the drugs wear off." She smiles. "Holding up okay?"

"Yes," Blaine says, pressing his cheek to the baby's warm, silky head. "I slept more than enough earlier." He thrills, just to feel his son move in his arms. "Did the organ have to come out?"

"No, it did not—our scientists will weep, I'm sure; they would have loved to have studied it. But no, it was in good condition, though, of course, it has gone dormant."

"Will it be inactive? I mean, will Kurt be unable to get pregnant for a long time?"

"The information that we have about that is sketchy at best, but he should not be able to conceive any time soon. A year, maybe more. Every few months, we'll check to make sure."

Kurt is on a bed beside the empty operating table now, still hooked up to machines but looking more like himself, arranged as if in sleep, his head tilted, his face peaceful, and his skin wiped clean. Blaine lifts his arms to the edge of the bed, and holds their baby there in between them.

"That's your papa, little one," he says, letting the baby feel Kurt's arm. "He's going to wake up very soon, I promise."

Soon is a bit of an exaggeration. Kurt has been through a lot, and the drugs that they put him under with had done their job well. The baby cries on and off, sleeps on and off, and eventually Blaine's physical needs drive him to surrender him to Burt for a while. 

He uses the bathroom, eats a piece of fruit and drinks a mug of tea, and washes up. He doesn't want to stop to change, but he does go to check on his family. Everyone pounces him for news the moment that they see him, and the look on his face, he suspects, says it all.

"The baby is healthy and resting comfortably with his grandfather," he says, beaming, feeling like it's finally okay to be happy, because Kurt is alright. "Kurt is still asleep, but it's just a matter of waiting for the drugs to wear off."

There are whoops and hollers and Blaine is hugged and clasped and has his hand pumped in an endless loop. His parents are crying and Trent rushes off for something to toast with and Finn asks him when they can see the baby. He says that he'll ask the staff.

He's exhausted, but he can't imagine resting again until Kurt has woken up.

Hours later, just before dusk, he's half-asleep in the chair beside Kurt's bed, the baby sleeping on his chest and Burt keeping watch, when Kurt begins to show signs of coming to—fingers twitching, eyelids flickering. The doctor who had relieved Doctor Mereen earlier comes into the room, checks the machines and Kurt's vital signs and begins to encourage him to come around. 

Blaine hands off the baby to Burt, who moves to stand on the opposite side of the bed.

"Kurt?" the doctor says. "Kurt, come on, time to wake up."

Kurt's lips part and he makes a fussy noise. Blaine puts a hand on his arm.

"Sweetheart? I'm here."

It happens by degrees, but eventually Kurt's eyes open and stay open. He doesn't seem to understand where he is or why he's lying down, but as the minutes pass he becomes more lucid, and finally he reaches out.

"Blaine? B-Blaine?"

Blaine sits on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. "I'm here. I'm here."

He falls into another lapse, then, but begins swimming to the surface for longer stretches of time. It takes all evening, but he finally opens his eyes and stays awake. He isn't exactly articulate, but as soon as he's moving around the doctor asks Burt to bring the baby over from the other side of the room, where he had been feeding him formula from a tiny bottle (they hadn't been able to wait for Kurt to wake up, unfortunately).

Blaine takes his son and steps up to the bed, smiling so wide that his face hurts.

Kurt sees them standing there. His eyes go from hazy to focused for the first time since waking up, and his face twists—a wrinkle appears between his brows, and his chin begins to tremble. He lets out a whimper, and then a cry, and Burt puts a hand on his on the bed.

"Hey, hey, now," he chants, and Kurt blinks.

"Daddy?"

"Don't worry about me right now."

Kurt looks back at Blaine and the baby. Blaine sits on the bed and gently slides the baby, squirming, into Kurt's arms. Kurt visibly deflates, tears streaming down his face. 

Something happens then that Blaine can't quite describe—there's an instant zing of connection between Kurt and the baby, as if they become fully aware of each other at exactly the same moment, and the baby goes still and quiet and begins touching Kurt's hospital robe and Kurt curls his fingers into the swaddling cloth and breathes out, staring down at him.

The doctor unbuttons Kurt's robe and untangles the swaddling cloth, re-draping it around them so that the baby can lie naked against Kurt's skin. It only takes a moment for the baby to begin searching for a nipple—he mouths at it for a while, and then latches on and begins to suckle.

Kurt raises a hand to stroke the baby's brown curls as a look of bliss settles over his tiny face.

"B-Blaine, please, come—need, closer, please."

Blaine climbs up onto the bed, which is not quite big enough for them both, and puts a hand on their son and one arm around Kurt. 

"How long?" Kurt asks, sounding groggy but happy.

"We've been here about twenty hours."

"He's good?"

"Perfectly healthy."

"Organ?"

"Still inside. They said that it's fine."

Kurt shakes against his side, and Blaine holds him tighter. "How did we get here?"

"Finn drove us."

"Are you serious?"

Blaine laughs. "Yes."

"He looks like a raisin," Kurt says, and then giggles hysterically under his breath.

"Don't you talk about my grandson like that," Burt says, smiling.

"My raisin, you can't have him, shush," Kurt says, curling his arms tighter around the baby.

Blaine just laughs—it's sort of true, but that doesn't make the baby any less precious to him. "We should probably name him, then, before 'Raisin' sticks."

"Didn't even get to talk about that, huh?" Kurt is obviously still a little woozy from the drugs, and Blaine can't help but smile and kiss him.

"Hi," he says, apropos of nothing. "I missed you."

Kurt's eyelids flutter. "Mm, it's nice to be awake." He looks down. "He's beautiful, for a raisin."

"Kurt Hummel, we are not naming our son Raisin."

"Parker," Kurt says, then, after a long pause. "Parker James Anderson. What do you think?"

"He looks like a Parker," Blaine says, nodding. "I like it. Burt?"

"Oh, no, I left that kind of thing up to other people when the time came. Whatever you two want."

"Parker," Blaine says, and Kurt smiles, watching the baby finally let go, the purse of his mouth ringed in milk as he falls asleep with his lips open and his head lolled back. Kurt wipes the baby's mouth clean with the corner of his gown.

"He has your hair," Kurt says, wonderingly. "I think."

Blaine cups Kurt's cheek and kisses him again. "I could sleep for a month."

"I intend to sleep for a month. I'm sure he'll have something to say about that, though." Kurt presses their foreheads together.

Burt clears his throat. "I'm going to go check on our audience. Call me if you need anything."

The staff shuffles out behind Burt with much the same instruction, and they are finally alone.

"It never should have happened like this," Blaine says, his fingers drifting over Parker's smooth limbs. "We—we pushed it, Kurt."

Kurt sighs. "How bad was it?"

"You shouldn't've made it. Neither of you. But you did. You fought."

Kurt nods, looking blank for a moment, and then snuggles into Blaine's arms. "Love you," he says, and then, "If I fall asleep—will you take him?"

Blaine nods. 

When Kurt begins to breathe deeply and then snore, Blaine takes Parker into his arms.

 

*

 

All told, Kurt spends about a week in the hospital.

On their return to the house, no one says a word about Essex or the Crawfords. Blaine had filled Trent and his parents in on all the pertinent details while Kurt had slept, and other than waiting for word from Adam, there's little else that they can do. Both families are simply happy to have their sons home and their grandson safely delivered. There are conversations that need to be had, of course, but this is not the right time to have them.

The nursery is just as gorgeous as Kurt had promised Blaine that it would be. Once they are settled, fed, and bathed, with their parents taking turns with Parker, Kurt asks for Anna.

She practically tackles him, until she remembers what he's been through, and then she smiles and hugs him, and when he offers to let her hold Parker she hesitates. 

"Oh, um, that's—no, he's lovely. I'm just not so good with—" She waves a hand, her face wrinkled up, and he laughs. 

"Fair enough."

He hands Parker off to Blaine, and hugs Anna properly, saying in her ear, "I won't forget the work that you've done. You ran this place as smoothly as any of us could have, if not better."

She smiles. "Thank you. It's good to have you back."

Food is brought up for everyone.

Kurt wishes that he could enjoy it—he has missed good food so much—but the pain killers are making him nauseous, so he sips weak tea and eats dry bread and enjoys being allowed to hold court from their comfortable bed. Their family mills around him, eating and drinking and talking in small groups, and it's nice to lie back against the soft pillows with Blaine beside him holding their son, watching the people who he loves most in the world mingle.

"I think he's hungry," Blaine says, when Parker begins to fuss.

Kurt unbuttons his tunic and takes the baby, who makes a few aborted attempts at latching before succeeding with a happy gurgle, his tiny hands balling into fists. Kurt isn't sure whether he'll be able to survive the intensity of the feelings of love that he already has for this little creature, but he allows them to wash over him anyway. It's as confusing and new as it is wonderful.

"I have a feeling that I've lost my unimpeded access to those already," Blaine jokes in his ear.

"Judging by how much they already ache—and not the good kind—I would have to agree," Kurt replies, his cheeks pink, and laughter in his eyes. He grows serious again, and says, "I won't be able to do this once we go back to work, though, not full-time. I'll have to ask the doctor about milking, or—part-time formula, maybe." He blinks. "How long is parental leave?"

"It's up to us. My parents only took about a month, and I had a nanny after that. Times were harder; they didn't have the option of staying away any longer. I would like to take at least a few months. We will need childcare at some point. This turmoil in Essex..." He sighs. "We may be forced to address it whenever it draws us back in, parental leave or not."

"Trent and Anna are doing such a good job, and have been for months," Kurt says, watching them. "At least that transition has been made. Going on leave won't be much of a change, really."

"True."

After several hours of family time, as well as a dozen sneaky visits by extended family and staff, Kurt and Blaine are exhausted, and the baby keeps going cranky in between jogs of napping, so Blaine's parents shuffle everyone but themselves and Burt and Carole out of the room.

The quiet is heavenly, and Kurt is dozing when Blaine wheels a bassinet in from the nursery. It's full of blankets so that they can put the newborn safely down right beside their bed. Even though it's difficult to let go, Kurt does, with one last kiss to the baby's soft, sweet-smelling head.

Burt, Carole, Jon, and Anita gather around the bassinet while Blaine lies down next to Kurt.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, hugging Kurt's middle.

It feels odd, being somewhat flat there again. Kurt knows that it will be a long time before his torso looks anything like it had before, and that he'll always have scars. This thought doesn't bother him the way that it once might have.

"Tired. I don't like the side effects of these drugs, but I'm sure I would dislike the pain just as much."

"I agree. They almost led to our son being named after a dried fruit."

Kurt laughs. "The resemblance is uncanny. Don't blame the drugs."

Burt breaks away from the bassinet. "Holding up?" he asks, and when Kurt nods, he leans over, kisses Kurt's hair and whispers, "Love you, son," to Kurt and, "Told you, didn't I?" to Blaine.

"I think we should give them some time to themselves," Carole says, and no one disagrees.

With a full tummy and a quiet room, the baby is asleep within minutes. Kurt hobbles over to tuck the forest green blanket that he has been treasuring for months around the baby's sleeping form.

 

*

 

Doctor Mereen sends one of her assistants-in-training to teach Kurt and Blaine the basics of baby care—they don't need much instruction, as they have both been reading up in their spare time, but it's a relief to be given hands-on guidance, especially in regards to simple things like diaper changing and feeding schedules. 

Kurt is making every effort to feed Parker himself, and that requires doing so every few hours, which is taxing but important to them both. The assistant teaches Kurt how to milk himself, and they install a small cool box in their rooms so that they can keep bottles handy for when Blaine takes his turn at the feedings—mostly at night, to let Kurt sleep. 

As the days and weeks go by they learn how to utilize every moment of quiet to recharge.

That isn't to say that they always succeed at managing the changes—there are times when the baby cries for hours without pause for no discernible reason. There are nights that they spend without a single wink of sleep, rocking him, walking him, and jostling him to no avail. The feeding is exhausting for Kurt, whose nipples are quickly wrecked by the constant suckling. Some nights all it takes is the baby making the tiniest noise of distress for either of them to want to cry in response, begging _please not yet please not again I am so tired_.

The residual ache from the surgery, when Kurt stops taking the pain medication, adds a layer of difficulty to it all. Sometimes he feels like he would give anything just to escape his own body.

There are several young people in the house, not yet employed, who offer to babysit for them, and when it becomes clear that they both need a break and the baby is old enough to be handled by other people, they give in. It's only a matter of the baby being down the hall, but they are both nervous wrecks the first few times that they let go.

They haven't been intimate since the baby came home, and even though one of the goals of allowing Parker to be babysat is getting some alone time, Kurt still feels completely disconnected from that part of himself. His surgery wound is healed and the stretch marks and scars are not an issue for either of them, but their thoughts are with Parker, and it's been so long.

It takes a while, and Blaine saying to him one evening, "Take a bath with me?"

Kurt is surprised to find the bath already drawn, and a bottle of his favorite fruit juice uncorked in a bucket of ice beside it. Blaine smiles, looking caught, and rubs the back of his neck as Kurt slides the robe from his shoulders.

"If you want?" Blaine asks, picking up the bottle. "I know that you can't drink wine, with the feeding, so this is the closest that I could manage."

Kurt nods, biting his lip, which is curving into a smile at the sight of his silly, thoughtful husband filling wine glasses with juice. They slide into the steaming tub with their glasses in hand, Kurt enjoying being able to be the big spoon occasionally now that his belly isn't in the way.

They wash up, and drink cold juice in the hot water. Kurt melts around Blaine, content to do absolutely nothing. They fall asleep in the bath and wake up only when the water begins to go cold. Kurt leans over the edge to turn the heating coil back up, but Blaine stays his hand.

"Let's get out," he says, smiling. "There is a second phase to my plan."

Kurt smiles. "Oh, I see."

In the bedroom, Blaine lights candles on the bedside tables, then disappears across the room and comes back with a little bottle of massage oil and some of the lotion that Kurt has been using on his belly to help the skin tighten back up.

"You're pulling out all of the stops tonight," Kurt says, sprawling out on his side.

"Can you lie on your stomach comfortably?"

"For a little while."

"Mm, okay. I wanted to get at your back."

Kurt is certainly not going to complain about that. 

Blaine kneels between his thighs and drizzles the warm rose-scented oil down the slope of his back. He can't remember the last time that they had taken the time to do something like this, and the first strong press of Blaine's hands feels so good that he moans aloud.

Blaine draws it out, working Kurt's body from the back of his neck to his tailbone, and then repeats the same focus on his thighs and calves and feet. He does this twice before he stops, working the pads of his thumbs into the nape of Kurt's neck, hooking his fingers around the shape of his throat from behind. 

Something about that grip sends a different sort of pleasure humming through Kurt's body, and he whines and arches his back, encouraging Blaine to press him by his neck down into the bed.

"Blaine," he moans, and rolls over, wincing just once as the motion pulls against his surgery scar.

"Gngh, sorry, I—"

Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine's waist and uses the leverage that he naturally has to pull Blaine down on top of him.

"Don't," he whispers, kissing him, "just—please." He's hard, pinned against Blaine's hip bone.

"What do you want?" Blaine asks, nearly stumbling over himself from the excitement of this happening between them again after so long.

"You," Kurt says, in between damp, hungry, open-mouthed kisses. Just feeling Blaine against him, his mouth and his hard body and his warmth and the affection in his eyes is enough in that moment. "Just you. Always you."

Blaine puts one hand on Kurt's right thigh and strokes the tense, hard column of it as they kiss, tongues darting into each other's mouths, their skin growing hot and their breath coming faster.

He adjusts himself against Kurt's belly and gasps, kissing down Kurt's neck. "Honey, let me—" He drags his mouth down Kurt's collarbone.

"Suck me," Kurt whispers, burying his fingers in Blaine's hair as he slides down the bed. "Please."

He can't believe that he has gone this long without watching that dark head settle between his legs, this long without that gorgeous, plump mouth around his cock, this long without the pleasure of holding on as Blaine bobs up and down him, wet and hot and hungry, making little pleased noises that vibrate down the shaft of his cock and settle in his balls.

It's been too long, and he can't hold back.

"I'm not going to last," he warns, panting, his thighs trembling against Blaine's ears, flushed all the way down his chest. Blaine answers by sucking faster, harder, his hand milking the base of Kurt's cock. Kurt comes at the sight, his ass clenching and his hips jerking as he drives his cock deep into Blaine's mouth.

"Gorgeous," Blaine hisses, licking his mouth clean as he pulls off. 

"Oh," Kurt moans, his fingers going lax, and his body melting into the mattress. "God, you—mmph. Come up here." Blaine kneels over him, obviously intending to lie down, but Kurt stops him there, reaches down to cup the erection straining against his towel. "I'm recovering from surgery, not paralyzed." He tugs the towel open, and wraps his hand around Blaine's cock.

"It's not that, I just—got so close when you were in my mouth, god, honey, been so long—"

"Do you hear me complaining?" Kurt drawls, his eyes hot on Blaine's, and hotter still when they travel his tight body to land on the sight of his thick, flushed cock pumping in and out of the circle of Kurt's fist. "Don't fuss. Just come for me."

"G-god, oh, god," Blaine whimpers, his thighs tensing when he surrenders to it, shooting cream-white ropes all over Kurt's chest, his cock jumping in Kurt's hand with each pulse.

It feels so good, going back to their usual level of enjoyment of one another, that Kurt can't bring himself to mind the mess. They clean off lazily, and Blaine sprawls on his back beside Kurt. Between them, Kurt laces their hands. 

He isn't sure why, but he feels suddenly rather giddy, and laughs until his eyes water.

"Well, I see I have done my job," Blaine says, grinning.

"Sorry, I just," Kurt pants, "we've talked about being parents, being husbands, being leaders so many times, and it's all happening and I—I don't know. That I get all of that and this, too—sometimes it feels too good to be true."

Blaine presses his lips to Kurt's bare shoulder. Kurt rolls over against his chest and kisses him, nuzzling their noses together. 

"We're fathers," Blaine whispers, as if it the most precious secret that he'll ever have to share, his voice hushed and sweet and full of surprise.

Kurt, for once, has nothing to say that could possibly top that.


	24. Chapter 24

Kurt and Blaine take four months of parental leave. 

They are a glorious four months, as well as the most trying of their lives, as they learn how to forgive themselves for mistakes, be patient with each other, and adjust their lives around the whims of a very small, very demanding dictator who is absolutely right in demanding every scrap of their attention and love. It's humbling as well as exhilarating.

From the beginning, Blaine is a slave to Parker's every breath. All it takes is for Parker to grip one of Blaine's fingers with his whole tiny hand, or to stare up at Blaine, his mouth open and burbling with spit bubbles, in complete awe of his daddy's face, and Blaine feels a love so keen that it's akin to pain.

The nursery sees more use as Parker grows easier to set down for bed in a normal crib. At any point during the day either Kurt or Blaine can be found sneaking in there, interrupting the cousin that has volunteered for baby sitting duty to sweep up Parker for a kiss and a cuddle and maybe feeding time. They haven't decided on permanent baby care yet, and Blaine knows that deep down they are both hoping to be around enough so that it won't be necessary.

When the weather is not too hot they take long walks through the garden, often stopping to dip Parker's little feet in Kurt's reflecting pool. 

It's here that they introduce Sam to Parker for the first time—they are both worried about how Parker might react, but Sam only sniffs the baby and begins licking his feet, making him shriek happily, and that is the end of that concern. After that, Sam is never far from the baby, sleeping beside Parker's crib at night and circling him defensively every time that Kurt and Blaine are at a distance. There's a lot of fur pulling on Parker's part, but Sam never seems to mind. From time to time, Sam's barking even stops Parker right in the middle of a crying jog. Blaine could kiss that dog. Kurt does kiss that dog, every time that it happens.

One of them will often find the other asleep with the baby out cold on his chest—this never loses its appeal, and Blaine happily watches Kurt and Parker sleep sometimes for hours, wishing more than anything that he could draw, because they make quite the picture, Parker's little fists balled in his papa's shirt or hair, or sometimes even sleepily nuzzling for milk when Kurt isn't awake to offer it, halfhearted fumbles that usually end with Blaine going to get a bottle or, if Parker loses interest, picking him up and walking him around the nursery so that he doesn't wake Kurt up.

Grasping everything that he can get his hands on and putting things in his mouth is his new favorite activity, so they are constantly getting rid of things that might be dangerous for him. He loves his toys, and has picked up, waved, thrown, and chewed on everything in the nursery at least a dozen times. He takes special joy in peeing on them every other time that they change him, and Blaine laughs until it happens to him and Kurt does the same, and he realizes that it's actually not that much fun—though it's still funny, and he has to admit that he'll miss it when it stops, as odd as that sounds.

Despite his best efforts, the nickname Raisin sticks.

The first time that he overhears Kurt cooing, "That's my little Raisin," he groans. Kurt glares at him and says, "Not a word." Who is he to argue, he supposes, when Parker seems so fond of it?

Parker makes friends with everyone, one by one, until even Anna, who has absolutely no interest in humans under a certain age, smiles when he laughs or throws a toy at one of their heads.

The first time that he rolls over, they both lose their minds, start squealing and hand-waving all over the place, and between the two of them they tell anyone who will stand still long enough to listen. Blaine has a feeling that the entire province will probably be aware of it soon—he supposes that it's not exactly breaking news, but it's exciting to see Parker on his belly, staring up at the world as if this new perspective has opened up a whole other world for him.

"Clearly he's a prodigy," Kurt announces, the dozenth or so time that Parker manages it.

Blaine laughs. "Clearly."

Some of his favorite moments come from watching Kurt and Parker when Kurt doesn't know he's there—at a distance, or around the corner of an open door when he sneaks into the nursery to visit at lunch and finds Kurt already there. 

One afternoon he had stood there for an hour, watching Kurt run through a whole play for Parker with a cast made up of his favorite toys, giving all of them names and doing the voices, making them move and dance and sing, and with every voice change and quick movement Parker had squealed and kicked, and had grown more and more excited until his shrieks were delightfully high-pitched. Kurt stopped to laugh until he couldn't breathe.

"The second act is my favorite, too," he had said, and Parker had spit up a little and said, "BAH!" in very loud agreement.

Kurt is much better at talking to Parker as if he is just a small human—Blaine needs to work on not baby-talking as much as he does, because he knows that it's better to actually use words. In his defense, most of the time Parker reduces him to gibberish simply because he is so adorable (even when he's projectile vomiting, filling diapers so vile that Blaine has to wonder what in the world is in milk that makes that happen, crying just when they manage to fall asleep, and doing his damnedest to swallow sharp objects and reach for the very things that they want him not to).

The first time that Parker barks "Da!" up at Blaine in the middle of a diaper change, he has to stop and give himself a minute. And then he says it again, and again, and that night he and Kurt do their flailing parent dance again, even though they know that this kind of thing is normal.

The first time that Parker says "Pa!" to Kurt, Blaine finds Kurt in his retiring room, clutching the baby to his chest and crying—despite the fact that they had shared the same experience, it had struck Kurt differently than it had him. They sit together that night until it's late, holding hands and talking, about Kurt missing his dad's constant presence and his mother even more, about family and love and loss and regret, until Kurt feels like himself again.

It's important to Blaine that they anchor each other in this, as in everything else.

 

*

 

A few months after Parker's birth, Kurt's body is more or less as it was before. He's managed to get the limp flesh on his belly to spring back, almost to where it was. The opaque stretch marks are still there, though, as is the pink, raised, healed surgery scar.

"I love you like this," Blaine reassures him, kneeling to kiss his skin, over and over again. "Every time I see these marks I remember how amazing and brave and strong you were."

"You don't have to say that. They're ugly."

"Nothing about you could ever be ugly," Blaine says. 

This is when he usually spends whatever time that they have proving to Kurt just how much he means that. It never involves much talk.

Blaine's parents convince them to take a couple of days to themselves before the weather turns cold. They drive out to the cabin that Kurt had lived in his first year on the compound. He hasn't used it much, but Trent makes sure that it's ready for them, so that they don't have to waste time dusting and uncovering furniture.

"This place feels a lifetime away," Kurt says, standing in the center of the living room.

"I remember every minute that we spent here when we were courting," Blaine says.

"I remember the teasing," Kurt admits, winking at his husband. "The glances. Your sneaky hands, and my sneaky lips."

"Those are very good memories."

"Now that we're able to enjoy orgasms, yes, they are."

They laugh together, eat lazily, and take a walk through the yard with Sam—who seems very excited to revisit the place where he had met Kurt—and go to bed early.

It's so quiet without Parker. Blaine doesn't want to say it, but he misses their little boy almost as much as he is happy to be away with Kurt.

"Me too," Kurt says into the silence, and he smiles.

They sleep deeply, for a magical and uninterrupted ten hours.

The next morning, Blaine wakes up to Kurt's mouth around his cock, and Kurt's pointer and middle finger buried inside of his ass. He jolts in surprise and then moans, flinging the blankets aside and turning his head into the pillows, one hand sliding down into Kurt's hair.

"Honey," he gasps, feeling his ass spasm around the slick digits. His hole is thoroughly sloppy with lotion, stretched and hungry for more.

"Good morning," Kurt says, and then swallows his cock.

"Damn," he hisses, lifting his legs and arching up. "Oh, my god, Kurt." Kurt's fingers are exactly where he wants them, making his cock is jerk with every press of Kurt's finger pads against his prostate. It's thrilling, but the moment that he gets used to it, he wants more.

Kurt bends over him, fingers still busy, kisses him quiet and then noisy again, as they clamber to their knees and then flip around. Kurt sits against the headboard and drags Blaine into his lap.

"Oh, yes," Blaine whimpers, wrapping his legs around Kurt's body and reaching behind to steady his cock. "God, yes, get inside of me." 

He presses the head of Kurt's cock against his soft rim, allowing the angle to fix itself before sitting down slowly, rocking back and forth to get the shaft into the curve of his anus without any uncomfortable catching. It feels incredible, especially the free range of motion that he gets when he puts his hands on the headboard and lets his body roll down into Kurt's lap. Kurt's face goes tight with pleasure. He puts his hands on Blaine's ass and squeezes it.

"Yes, just like that," he whispers, "ride me, come on, want to feel this beautiful ass move."

Blaine grips the headboard and gives Kurt exactly what he wants. It feels so good, being able to let go, and to make as much noise as he wants. After Kurt comes, Blaine has barely caught his breath before Kurt is tipping him onto his back and straddling his waist.

"Don't come. I want your cock," Kurt says.

It's the strangest mix of sensations, going from being stretched and full and wet to Kurt on top of him, sitting down onto him in return, almost using him because he is not much good for anything else right now. Kurt doesn't seem to mind, just slicks himself and sits down onto Blaine like he's been ready for hours, taking his own pleasure with his eyes rolled back and his tunic still around his thighs, his hands laced with Blaine's on either side of Blaine's head on the bed, the damp slap of their bodies and shared grunts the only sound for miles.

Kurt comes a second time, jerking his cock through his tunic while his ass spasms around Blaine's cock, the wet cloth already molded to the shape of him, and when he comes some of the slickness soaks through the fabric, pearly white and thin, wetting his hand, but most of it just soaks the garment, dribbling down the front in long, dark streaks.

"Oh, that," Kurt pants, flushed and sweating and laughing, "was so damned good."

The next two days are a riot of intimacy, quiet meals, and visits to the nearby lake for swimming. Kurt brings his flute and plays, and they take turns singing for each other as well as performing flirty duets as the breeze off of the water kicks up their hair and clothes.

"You know," Blaine says, his head in Kurt's lap, "We missed our birthdays while we were in Essex."

"Oh my god, you're right," Kurt replies.

They have a little celebration of their own that afternoon, splitting a plum tart piled high with fresh whipped cream that ends up more on their skin than their forks, Kurt squealing when Blaine tries to paint him with it below his tunic, which leads to them chasing each other into the water and a splash fight that drains whatever fight Kurt has left in him.

Treading water with Kurt's legs around his waist, Blaine licks the sugary residue from Kurt's collarbone, and then nuzzles into the dip of his throat. 

"I love you," he says, tightening his arms around Kurt's waist. "I thought I couldn't be any happier, and now we have Parker, and—"

"I know," Kurt says, leaning back to watch Blaine's face, smiling.

Blaine traces the half moon brackets of Kurt's dimples with his thumbs. "You know, I think that these cabin weekends ought to be a regular thing. What do you say?"

Kurt slides his bare, wet arms around Blaine's neck and kisses him.

Blaine takes that as a yes.

 

*

 

When they return home, Trent is waiting for them in their rooms, holding a rather serious looking piece of paper bearing the official seal of Essex. The moment that Kurt sees it, he tenses up—they have both been dreading this inevitable interruption of their newly resettled lifestyle.

"What does he need?" Blaine asks, sounding weary.

Trent, one corner of his mouth curled into a playful smile, says, "A babysitter, I think."

"Was Andrew with Parker today?" Kurt asks, out of habit.

Trent shakes his head. "I took over for him. Don't look so surprised; that child loves me!"

Kurt goes over to the bassinet. Parker is asleep, but when Kurt leans over to look at him, it's as if he knows that his papa is home; he wakes with a soft cry. Kurt lifts him, checks his diaper, finds it dry, and when he begins pawing at Kurt's tunic, undoes the top half of the buttons and lets him find a nipple. He sits next to Blaine, who croons at Parker, kissing his head, although he won't get much of a response until feeding time is over. Parker spares him an interested eye roll and a little kick of his heels. They relax—having Parker near makes everything feel right again.

Blaine takes the letter from Trent. Kurt reads it over Parker's head.

"He and Ethan married—well done, Adam," Kurt says. "They named the baby Rose—a bit uninspired, but cute, I suppose—"

"Parker is so much better," Blaine agrees.

"—they had to have the naming without us, for which he apologizes, because they didn't want to delay any of the legal back work that they're trying to accomplish in order to make Rose their heir without complication—that must be a nightmare—and—oh. They named her Rose in honor of the Anderson family, and 'hope that this will be the first of many gestures that our families exchange in the spirit of repairing trust and forging a new alliance'. I feel guilty for making fun of the name, now."

Blaine sighs, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "Go on."

"They ask after Parker's naming, as they received the birth announcement, and suggest a visit on or around the happy day so that we can share it. They want to discuss a new trade agreement." Kurt frowns. "This seems horribly official, and he doesn't mention his family at all. Are we just to assume that he—disposed of them, or something?"

Trent holds up a second letter, by way of interruption. "This came hand-delivered."

"Oh," Kurt breathes. "That makes more sense."

The second letter is a personal note to Kurt and Blaine from Adam—it bears no seal, and is not addressed or signed with anything but initials. Kurt's face goes smooth as he reads it. 

Parker chooses that moment to stop eating. Blaine takes him without hesitation, puts him over his shoulder after draping a cloth over it, and begins rubbing his back to encourage him to burp.

"David, his father, brother, and the guards who were responsible for the execution of your pages, beating Gregory, and abusing you and I, are all in custody awaiting trial." Kurt exhales. "They have that sort of justice system in Essex?" Trent nods, and Kurt goes on, "It makes sense. Dungeons, after all. Adam says that we or any family or representatives of the wronged or accused parties are welcome to attend and/or speak at the trial if so desired, but asks us to allow him to mete out the sentences himself, on his land, for all of the prisoners except David."

Blaine's jaw ticks. "I suppose our hands are tied, there. We don't have the laws in place to punish or hold them, and doing so would weaken Adam's position, besides." Parker fusses and burps, and Blaine switches shoulders, bouncing him gently. "Does he say anything in regards to what the punishments will be?"

"House arrest—they have a holding specifically for 'prisoners' of this kind. Or exile."

Kurt does not need to look twice to know that the expression on Blaine's face is screaming, _that does not seem sufficient_. But what more can Adam do? Executions had been as common as handshakes during the War and, like so many of those activities, have become completely taboo in their current world. To arrest his family members and employees for weapons building and warmongering and following wartime orders and then execute them would be problematic indeed.

"He also says that as long as we are willing to wait until Fall, we can set the specific date of the trial to suit our schedules," Kurt says.

Later that evening, they ask Blaine's parents to a private dinner in their rooms. 

Things have been quietly strained between Blaine and his parents for quite some time now—they have never really forgiven each other for the missteps and poor decision making that happened during the Essex debacle, and there has been a curious lack of open discussion of the events. Parker has been, of course, a very good distraction, but Blaine has always been so close to his parents, has always had such an easy relationship with them, that Kurt worries.

As they sit around the table, Kurt can feel the tension in the air; it's palpable and bitter, not because any of them are angry, but because this silence has gone on too long, and they know it.

Kurt and Blaine share the letters that they had received from Adam, and Blaine's parents are visibly moved. It isn't lost on them, Kurt knows, that since coming home, every official action and communication in the house has been directed to Kurt and Blaine and not them. Without a word being spoken or an order given, the training wheels have officially come off, and they know that it's related to their lack of action and leadership decisions during the Essex troubles.

Kurt feels badly for them, at least in part—the illness that they had survived last Winter had left them mentally a little slower. The unprecedented nature of what Walter Crawford tried to do had shaken them to the core. The threat of losing their son and son-in-law and heir had struck them like a fist and left them reeling. In other ways, Kurt can't justify it—they had been through equally terrible times in their younger years, and had weathered them much better.

Still, they are family, and he loves them, and wants very much to forgive them and move on.

"Would you like us to accompany you?" Jon asks, looking tired.

"Would you like to accompany us?" Kurt counters, not unkindly.

"Yes," Anita says.

Blaine nods. "Very well."

"Though we don't deserve it," she adds, looking at them in turn. "And don't think that we aren't perfectly aware of that." Kurt takes a breath, but she continues, "After spending a lifetime giving everything that you have to the greater good, you begin to convince yourself that you've seen it all. That nothing could manage to impress or surprise you, and then—something does, and you falter. We faltered for too long and too hard, and this should not pass without comment."

Jon takes her hand. She lets him.

"Mother," Blaine begins. Kurt can hear the sadness in his voice.

"No, Blaine," she interrupts. "It is the truth."

"We are a family," Kurt says, carefully measuring his words. "We weathered the storm."

She stares at him, and her mouth squirms into a smile. "When did you become this stalwart man who I see before me, hm?"

His throat tightens at the look of respect and affection on her face, and under the table he feels Blaine's hand squeeze his knee.

"In any case," Jon says, "Anita is right." He clears his throat. "No more checks and balances. No more asking for permission. No more final says. You are the leaders of this province now."

Kurt laces his shaking hand over Blaine's on his leg.

"It is an honor to pass the mantle to you," Anita says.

"Thank you, Mother, Father." Blaine's throat bobs. "I would like it if we could be a family again."

Kurt can't stand it a moment longer. He stands, dragging Blaine with him around the table to crouch in between his in-law's chairs and pull them into an embrace. Blaine kneels opposite him and does the same, and they are engulfed by his parents' arms, all four of them laughing and crying in relief.

It's time to move ahead.

 

*

 

Parker's naming ceremony is almost as grand as their wedding had been. 

They dress in splendor—even Parker, who promptly and splendidly spits up all over his outfit twenty minutes into the proceedings (Kurt, of course, had had three sets of the little robe made in anticipation of this, so all is well in the end). On the second floor of the town hall, on the balcony where Kurt and Blaine had been married, they announce Parker's full name to the compound and the guests who have traveled to see him for the first time.

Below in the streets afterward they celebrate as they have not celebrated in a long while, stuffing themselves, dancing until their feet hurt and, after Parker has been put to bed, getting spectacularly drunk (with the exception of Kurt) and making fools of themselves in the process.

Adam and Ethan, attending in relative stealth, take up much of their time. The pair are doing well, and now that all is decided in regards to beginning a new relationship with Westerville, both Blaine and Kurt are able to relax and enjoy their company. Their daughter, Rose, is sleeping soundly in quiet building nearby, side by side with Parker.

At one point, while dancing, they swap partners so that Kurt and Adam can dance while Ethan and Blaine do the same, and for the first time Kurt feels completely at ease with his new friend. He relaxes into Adam's light hold, and finds that he can't stop smiling.

"Your son is beautiful," Adam says, and spins him around.

"Don't show off," Kurt chastises with a smile, and then adds, "Thank you. So is your daughter."

"I can't thank you enough for the fairness that you've shown us," Adam says. "You could have just as easily shut your borders to us and been done with it."

"We need each another," Kurt says. "We always have, and always will—but there's no reason to not find joy in that, is there?"

Adam smiles. "You are something special, Kurt Hummel."

"As are you. You managed a political coup without a drop of bloodshed—we really do need to sit down and talk about that, by the way—and now your people will get the leader that they deserve."

"We're also a bit of a mess, actually," Adam admits, laughing. "Which brings me somewhat cheekily to my next request. I met this incredible person over there—her name is Lucy? She tells me that a certain family she used to politically advise for has very little need of her talents." 

It is true that the use of a political adviser—much less a whole family dedicated to the task—has been on the decline in the Anderson regime for at least two generations. Blaine's parents—and now Kurt and Blaine—have always been of the opinion that an effective leader should be held accountable in such matters, and not need to rely on advisers overly much.

Kurt snorts, and lets Adam dip him. "You came all this way just to steal my Luce?"

"Ethan is in love with her, and I don't think he's going to leave without securing her services."

Kurt smiles, twirls away from, and then back into Adam's arms. "That's up to her. But if she would like to take the job, I think that we could spare her."

It turns out that Lucy is actually eager to accept the offer—she's glowing, in fact, and going on about being able to write new laws and fresh policy for the first time in her life. By the end of the night she's half a wine bottle gone in celebration of the appointment. She's taller than Kurt, so dancing with her is always amusingly awkward, but she won't let him out of it.

"Thank you," she says. "I have enjoyed teaching these past few years, but—policy is what I love, and this is a huge opportunity for me."

"Don't thank me," he says, laughing, "you're the genius. We just haven't been utilizing you properly. For that, I'm sorry." He pets her shoulders as they dance. "Promise you'll visit?"

"Of course. Someone has to teach that child something other than 'your daddies' only job is to spoil you rotten'."

"Okay, on to Essex with you; I get enough attitude around here as it is—" He pulls away, and she laughs and reels him back in.

"Not so fast, you."

Blaine rescues him not long after, and they dance the last few dances of the night with each other. The stars are bright overhead, the air full of the smoke of cooking fires and the smell of food and the noise of happy people.

He kisses Blaine, and then melts into his arms. "Adam and Ethan have corrupted Lucy."

"I heard," Blaine says. He pauses for comedic effect, and adds, "I think everyone has heard."

Kurt laughs. "I'm glad for her." He yawns against Blaine's neck. "Have you seen my family?"

"They're with the babies," Blaine says.

"I think I would like to be as well."

He's tired, it's been a long day, and as they are going back to Essex with Adam and Ethan tomorrow to sit in on the trial, they should get as much rest as they can tonight.

 

*

 

The trial is a somber affair from the start. The building set aside for the proceedings is huge, packed with representatives from every Essex village and every guild that they support. 

Just before the event is set to begin, Kurt goes outside to clear his head in the fresh, crisp air, and Blaine follows to make sure that he's alright. They stand side by side, staring out over the fields of temperature shield domes. When Blaine slides a hand into his, they don't need to speak to express the fact that they are both reliving the time they had spent here in uncomfortable detail.

"It is so beautiful here," Kurt says. "I wish—"

"Me too," Blaine says. "It will change, over time. This is a fresh start."

The trial lasts for two days, and is surprisingly informal in structure. 

People of many ranks and positions and levels of involvement speak on behalf of everyone involved. It is more a conversation than an interrogation, but in the absence of a larger familial representation, it's Adam's decision which punishments will be handed down.

Kurt isn't surprised when Adam assigns his father house arrest for the remainder of his days. He is surprised, however, when Adam pronounces banishment as the sentence for his older brother and the guards who had willingly and unquestioningly taken their orders.

Later, when they have paused the proceedings for a meal, Blaine says, "It makes sense. If he let them linger in house arrest together, they might scheme and attempt to overthrow him later. By separating Walter, who is the brains, from Colton, who is his father's solider, you essentially neuter them both—cut the brain from the body, so to speak. Abroad, Colton won't tarry with his former employees for long, and once they part ways public shame and infamy will prevent them from gaining footholds elsewhere. It's a disassembling of power—it guarantees nothing, of course, but it's the smartest thing that Adam can do for now."

Once the sentences are carried out and the building empties, Kurt and Blaine breathe a sigh of relief. It had been difficult, looking their captors and abusers in the face. It had been even more difficult to see the looks on the faces of the dead pages' families as they stared at those who had taken the lives of their kin.

A celebration would be inappropriate, but there is a banquet the evening after the trial finishes, and Adam dedicates it to those who had suffered during his father's recent fall from grace, which seems to go over very well.

Adam, Ethan, Kurt, and Blaine sit at the table and watch Rose and Parker become fast friends in a playpen nearby. They're both crawling now, so such a restriction has become necessary.

"Ethan's father, our horse master, requested a meeting with my father," Adam tells Kurt. "It was simple enough to detain him once he was separated from his guards. I got my brother properly drunk at the same time, and detained him myself. Between Ethan and I we had no less than a dozen families ready to occupy the house and overwhelm the guards. We managed to apprehend whatever remaining supporters that my father and brother had on the compound—guards, extended family, friends. They had almost none in the province proper, mostly just managers who they had threatened into obedience. And almost every single one of them changed sides the moment that they realized what was going on. It took a bit longer to dismantle the engineering groups and sort out those who were involved in building the weapons, but they were all given the option to stand trial or swear to never touch the work again. Most were just doing as their supervisors told them to do and had no interest in the work, but some were bloodthirsty, and wanted to see their creations in action. We'll be cleaning up ambiguous cases for years, I reckon, but that's not a surprise."

"You must have moved quickly," Kurt says.

"This was two days after you and Blaine left," Adam says. "Once I met with Ethan's family, and they confirmed how many prominent Essex families were waiting in the wings, I realized that there was no call to hesitate. And I'm not surprised that they were already poised to act—they're all good people, with this province's best interests at heart. I am grateful for them."

Ethan bends over the lip of the playpen to lift Parker, and Blaine does the same with Rose. Kurt smiles, watching them talk with the babies reaching for one another between them.

Adam smiles, turning back to Kurt. "Do you ever feel unworthy, sometimes, just looking at them?"

"I'd like to think that we are worthy of them," Kurt says, reaching down to squeeze Adam's hand.

"Success lies in the determination to be so, I think."

Kurt hums. "It certainly doesn't hurt."

Staring at Parker's tidy mop of thick, brown curls, his blue-green eyes, and the curve of his eyebrows, mouth, and nose—so obviously Blaine's—Kurt knows that if he can keep his son, his husband, and his people safe and happy, everything else will come easily.

 

*

 

The following day, Adam escorts Kurt, Blaine, Trent, and Blaine's parents down to the dungeons.

On the stairs just before the first floor of cells, Adam stops them, takes a breath, and asks, "Are you sure? I can have him brought upstairs."

Blaine takes stock of the looks on his family's faces and then nods. "We're prepared."

As prepared as they'll ever be.

David is restrained in the corner of his cell, and when they approach the bars he squints at them. He looks ragged, but not abused in any obvious way.

Blaine's throat closes up at the sight of his angry face. He immediately looks at Trent, who inhales audibly and takes a step back. The betrayal and pain in his eyes makes Blaine want to alternately cry for him and lay into David. Blaine can't believe that it's come to this. When had David become this person, and why hadn't he noticed the transformation?

"This is somewhat unprecedented," Adam says. "We've never held a citizen of another province before because of a criminal matter." He looks at Blaine, and then Blaine's parents, who are holding hands and visibly distraught. 

"Cowards," David hisses. "You were cowards then and you're cowards now. Didn't even know what to do the first time someone challenged you—practically rolled over and gave it up, your own damned son—"

"If you can't be quiet, we will make you quiet," Adam says. "You aren't doing yourself any favors."

David spits onto the stone floor and sits back down, his wrist manacles clanking.

"He isn't ours to punish," Adam says. "What of his family?"

"They wouldn't come," Anita says, her voice rough with suppressed emotion. "They had no idea that he'd been spying for your father. They—they want nothing more to do with him."

David winces, and Blaine's fingers twitch.

"How could you?" Trent rasps, his eyes shimmering with tears. "We were like brothers. We did everything together. We—"

"Fools," David says, "you are all fools. And you are so blinded by your love of Blaine that you have never taken stock of how weak—"

"Stop it," Trent breathes, his voice going high. "Stop this, stop doing this."

"Enough," Adam says. "You're testing my patience, sir."

Blaine stares between them, his eyes wet and his face tense with emotion.

Kurt's jaw is twitching. He hasn't taken his eyes off of David since they entered the room. "What are our options?"

"You may take him, if you wish. Hold him or punish him as you see fit."

"We aren't equipped for that," Jon says. There is so little crime in Westerville that they have no need of holding cells, and no codified punishments for a crime like this.

"We could hold him for you, but that may not go over well," Adam says. "He is not a citizen; people will say that we shouldn't house or feed him."

"What of banishment, as you did with the guards?" Blaine asks.

Kurt tilts his head. Blaine's parents shift on their feet. Trent is already withdrawing, and Blaine can't blame him.

"Possible," Adam says. "The Sea or City Traders would be happy to take him."

"Simpletons," David hisses. "You may as well just kill me today!"

"Be glad that we choose not to," Adam says, glaring at him. "It is more than you deserve to be allowed the chance to live out your days toiling among strangers."

"If they did, it would have to be under the condition that he never be allowed to do more than labor," Kurt says. "He couldn't be permitted any power or responsibility, or to be involved in trade, or to travel freely."

"Of course," Adam says. "We have sent our criminals to other provinces in this way before."

"Are we in agreement?" Blaine asks, looking at them all. "Banishment under a labor contract?"

Kurt, his parents, and Trent, all assent in turn, and Adam nods. "Very well."

Blaine spares David one last look of disdain before he turns and leaves. Everyone follows.

On the main level of the house, he touches Kurt's hand and says, "Trent—"

"I know," Kurt says, kissing his cheek. "Go ahead. I'll sit with your parents."

Trent is shuffling ahead of them, attempting a polite escape. He shouldn't be by himself right now. Out of all of them, he has been the one most deeply affected by David's betrayal.

Blaine follows Trent into his guest chambers and closes the door behind them. As soon as Trent stops walking, Blaine stands behind him and puts his hands on his shoulders. They convulse almost immediately.

"Hey," Blaine croons, wrapping his arms around Trent from behind. "It's okay to be upset."

"It went on for years, Blaine," Trent whispers through his tears. " _Years_. I should have known. I should have seen the signs. What if his task had been to simply—murder you or Kurt or—he would have succeeded. He would have been perfectly positioned to do any number of things."

"But it wasn't, and he didn't."

"He—he isn't wrong. I trust too easily."

"That is the best part about you," Blaine says, rubbing his arms. "Don't let him poison your mind."

Trent turns. His face is blotchy and damp with tears, and Blaine's heart twists at the sight.

"Blaine," he says, looking more broken than Blaine has ever seen him, "I know that it doesn't matter. And it never has, not really—"

"I know," Blaine says, tears welling up in his eyes. "I've always known."

Though it's not something that Blaine has ever engaged head-on, even in private thought, he isn't blind—he knows that Trent's loyalty to him has always cradled a pocket of something beyond simple duty, a passion that has shown itself innocently from time to time. Never in any obvious way, but in glances and simmering emotion and physical restraint that belied unspoken desire.

Trent's jaw trembles. He looks down. "Of course."

"Don't be like that," Blaine says, tipping his face back up. "I've never treated you carelessly, have I?"

"Never." His eyes shine with tears. "I knew that it was hopeless from the start," he says, those tears streaking down his cheeks. "You saw potential in other boys but never me—"

"Oh," Blaine says. "Oh, it was never as conscious as that."

"No, it wasn't. But I was a brother to you. Never anything more. On your fourteenth birthday we got drunk off of a bottle of wine that we stole from the cellar, and we passed out on your bed." His face twists up. "I woke before you—you always were a hopeless drinker—and I watched you sleep, and I thought I would die for how much I loved you. I would have done anything—and then you woke up, and it was like nothing for you to smile and hug me and get out of that bed without so much as a pause, and I knew then that I would never be to you what you were to me." 

Blaine's chest aches. He loves Trent, and hearing the despair in his voice is like being stabbed.

"You love Kurt," Trent says, "and I am so happy for that. I see the joy that you share, and even when it rips into me, I am happy for you both. I want that joy. And I know that I will find it. But I needed to speak the words to you first. I needed to hear it out loud before I put it to rest."

"You could have always come to me," Blaine says, stroking Trent's cheek. "I don't think that I would have known what to say, but I would have listened."

Trent nods, sniffling, and reaches up to wipe at his face. "Blubbering like a child. At least there are no other witnesses."

"I will always be here for you, no matter what," Blaine says. "You know that, right?"

Trent gives him a wobbly smile. "Of course." He pauses, and then adds, "Someone has to help you figure out that hair."

Blaine laughs until he cries.

 

*

 

Before they leave Essex, Adam takes them on a tour.

"I'd like to leave off on a positive note," he says, "And I'm sure that you are curious to see where most of the food that you eat comes from."

It's a fun day—they stop at each field type and sample food that either comes from or is made with that particular crop or animal product, and by the end of the tour they are all so stuffed with apples and bread and milk and cheese that Kurt can hardly climb down off of the flat, open trailer they've been riding without feeling a stitch in his side.

Adam tells them all that he can about the technology that goes into the shields, and then talks about agriculture, as well as about the work that had gone into making the valley habitable when his family had first discovered it. It's a level of detail that Lucy had never felt Kurt needed when he took his first lessons, but he is glad to receive it now.

They stay overnight in a charmingly converted barn, and the next morning return to the house to collect their things and the children and elderly who had stayed behind.

Parker gives them enthusiastic rounds of "Pa" and "Da"—he now sometimes gets out "Pa Pa" and "Da Da", much to their surprise and pleasure—which makes Adam and Ethan laugh, because Rose has already graduated to very composed and mature barks of "Da-dee".

Adam hugs them in turn, and says, "Thank you. Without your support this wouldn't have been nearly as satisfactory, and we are grateful for a second chance."

"You're welcome," Blaine says, hugging Adam tighter when he moves to pull away, surprising Adam as well as Kurt. "I've struggled, as you know, but—I'm pleased with the outcome."

Adam's throat bobs. "I'm glad. And this is only the beginning, I promise you."

Kurt's eyes burn at that, and he flings his arms around them both.

 

*

 

Just before the weather grows unbearably cold, Finn marries Lori. 

Kurt and Blaine have every intention of being there before the ceremony to spend time with the happy couple, but Parker doesn't take the transport ride well and they end up arriving just in time for the contract signing and vows with a cranky baby, wearing very nice outfits that are now covered in vomit and various other bodily fluids.

Once they're comfortably changed into clean clothes, it makes for a hilarious story—especially as Parker had been fine the moment that the transport stopped, darting around the floor of the shed on all fours as if exploring it had been the only reason why he'd agreed to come along.

They give Parker a tour of the house and grounds after the ceremony, and Kurt feels a keen satisfaction, carrying his son from room to room, showing him where he had once slept (especially the yellow Anderson roses painted on the walls, which are the only remaining trace of him in the room), taking him into the forest clearings where he had once played, plucking a sprig of basil from the herb garden for him to smell and crush and lick, only to watch him spit it up with a soft "pweh" noise and a wrinkled face. 

He lets Parker climb through the flower beds, and thinks about his mom.

"She would have loved you, Raisin," he says, with a hint of sadness, and Parker coos and giggles up a spit bubble, waving his arms, as if trying to make his daddy smile again (it works).

Kurt is in the kitchen letting Parker lick custard from his fingers when his dad finds him.

"There you are." He watches them, smiling. "You guys heading home tonight?"

"I'd love to stay, but we have a meeting tomorrow morning that we can't miss."

"Of course, of course, that's fine."

Finn and his wife have already retired, so it's only a matter of packing up the transport—Blaine is cleaning it out—and getting home in time to get a few hours of sleep before the day begins.

Parker gets bored of the custard, so Kurt cleans them both up. He doesn't seem to want to play or explore, so Kurt just holds him, tucking his little head into the space beneath his chin. He's asleep within minutes, his fingers curled into Kurt's tunic.

"He is a handsome kid," Burt says, his face alight with pride.

"Naturally," Kurt says, smiling, "have you seen his fathers?"

"Still giving me attitude, huh?"

"I promise you that I will always give you attitude," he says.

"He has your eyes."

 _Mom's eyes_ , Kurt doesn't say, but they both hear it, anyway.

"I meant to, uh, run this by you before we decided anything," Burt says, picking at the tabletop with a fingernail. "But Finn kinda backed me into a corner this week."

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

"He's been trying to get me to let him take over the business for months, to be honest. I—well, I've been putting him off. Wasn't sure if I was ready, if he was ready, if it was what Carole wanted—but, I dunno, Kurt, seeing him get married and—well, after the ceremony today he pulled me aside and asked me if I would consider doing it as a wedding gift. Lori's a fine mechanic and Finn is great at handling the customer end of things. Between the two of them, they could do a good job here. So, I think I'm going to take up the Andersons' offer to move onto the compound—with Carole, of course—and work with Marley on improving things."

Kurt bites his lip, and takes a quick breath.

Burt interprets this as concern. He rushes to add, "I don't want to throw you off. I don't need you to visit me every day, or give me any special treatment. I don't even need to live in that big fancy house. But it's up to you. If you don't want me underfoot, I'll move into one of the cabins on the property here. I'm happy to do that. Either way, Carole and I are giving Finn and Lori the house."

"Oh my god, Dad, stop—of course I want you to move to the compound!" Kurt whisper-shouts, so as not to wake Parker. "I didn't think that it would be this soon, but—this is wonderful."

Burt shifts around happily, smiling and knocking on the table in quiet excitement. "I mean, it's sort of a semi-retirement, so I'll be setting my own hours and all—"

Carole walks in at that moment, carrying a tray of half-eaten food. She sets it down, gives Kurt and the baby a wave, and then looks at Burt, stopping short.

"Did you tell him?" she mouths, and Kurt laughs.

"He told me."

"Oh!" she squeaks. "Thank goodness."

"I'm thrilled. I really am. It's going to be great having you two so close."

She sits with a tired noise, and reaches out to squeeze his leg. "I was talking to Blaine," she says, sitting back to clasp her hands in her lap. "Now, feel free to tell me to go stuff it, but—he told me that you two haven't decided on a long-term nanny yet."

"We were kind of hoping to not have one?" Kurt says. "We've managed so far. But come Spring most of the kids who have been helping us out will be working or enrolled in training programs."

"Well," she says, excited, "in that case, I'm volunteering. I won't have much to do on the compound, at least not right away, and I've been thinking about this for a while now—I'd like to use that free time to take care of Parker. What do you say?"

Kurt wants to say yes immediately, but he has to ask, "Was Blaine okay with the idea? I mean, of course I am, I just—anything that relates to Parker we make sure we agree on first."

"He said the same thing, but yes, he was fine with it."

"Well, then," he says, "in that case, thank you, and I am happy to say yes as well."

On the drive home, Parker shrieking loudly in the backseat, Kurt can't help but tease Blaine.

"I see what you did back there, Mr. Sneaky Babysitter Procurer."

Blaine laughs, throwing one hand up. "Oh, come on. That was not my entire goal. Finn and Lori's wedding was very important to me."

Kurt gently pinches him, and then says, "I'm kidding. It's a great idea. I'm glad that Carole thought of it. She's been handling the back end for my dad, the books and all, and without that she would have been so bored on the compound."

"I'd like to get her thinking about some kind of schooling or programming. Maybe there's something that she would like to do but has never had the time for—"

"There you go, working on your day off again."

Blaine smirks at him. "Excuse me. You, who practically gave a new meaning to the word 'overtime', calling me out on that?"

"I fixed it, didn't I?"

"Mm. It's a good thing that you're so handsome, Kurt Hummel."

"Gets me out of trouble every time."

Blaine slows down long enough to lean over and safely kiss his cheek. "Don't I know it."

 

*

 

It's the first snow flurry of the year, and as soon as Kurt finishes work for the day he learns that Blaine will be late, so he picks Parker up from Carole, dresses him in warm clothes (a brown snow suit with knitted yellow roses along its hem, a big one atop his jaunty cap and two smaller ones on the toes of his booties), and takes him out into the gardens, which are only days away from being put into stasis for the season.

Beneath the shimmering dome it's warm but not warm enough, so Kurt leaves him in his sweater, though he removes the cap and booties because he's just going to do it himself anyway once he starts crawling around, stuffing grass into his mouth and covering himself with pollen and dirt.

Kurt takes a stack of papers from under his arm and sits beside his reflecting pool.

He opens the pages of the journal, retracts the slide on his pen...and nothing comes to mind, not really. It's frustrating. Just when the idea of maintaining a journal seems appealing, he can't think of how to begin. He flips back several pages, and then a dozen, and a dozen more, the familiar scratch of his mom's handwriting broken up by drawings and little things taped to the pages sending a buzz of familiarity through his belly.

He lies down on his cloak on the grass and stares up at the ceiling of the dome above him, casting a sheen over the inky blue, star-speckled sky over their heads. The snow is coming down in light, fluffy chunks, landing on the shield and skittering this way and that, buffeted by the wind and the slope of the dome itself. It's beautiful. Kurt closes his eyes, wanting to commit the image to memory.

Of course, the moment that he closes his eyes his son shouts "Papa!" just before trying to show off an attempt to eat a decorative rock.

Laughing, Kurt takes it from his hand and tosses it into the reflecting pool. "We don't eat the rocks, Parker. They'll hurt your stomach if you swallow them. Remember?"

Parker looks at him very seriously—and then in the blink of an eye, is on to the next distraction.

Kurt envies him the ability to do that.

The sky darkens from blue to navy to black, but the temperature inside the garden remains the same. Kurt understands why they have to be put into stasis for the season—no one can make it out here once the snow piles up, and the energy cost to keep them at full heat through the Winter is too high—but he often fantasizes about staying in his garden all Winter with Blaine and Parker, living off of the little crop that he has growing there, sleeping on the warm earth, bathing in the pool, and not having to cope with a single worry.

Then again—perhaps not. He's fond of the world out there, as flawed as it can be.

Parker crawls up his leg, toddles along his stomach, and he reaches down to help lift the baby to sit on his chest. Parker's outfit is covered in dirt and grass and bits of destroyed flowers, and Kurt swipes at the mess, and then tickles Parker under his arms just to make him giggle.

 _There is hardly a more beautiful sound in the world_ , he thinks.

They play together for a while, Kurt plucking flowers and greens and weaving little shapes—animals and people, mostly—for Parker, who promptly rips them apart or tries to eat them or, if he is truly dissatisfied, throws them in the direction of the reflecting pool.

"That's not very nice," Kurt says. "I spent quite a while making those for you."

Parker makes a soft noise that sounds like, "Ooh," and then crawls to retrieve the last flower bundle that he had thrown with a gently apologetic, "Papa."

Kurt feels as if his heart could burst right out of his chest. 

After a while, Parker grows hungry, so Kurt feeds him, burps him, and changes him. Once he is dry and comfortable, he falls asleep, and Kurt gingerly deposits him in his little basket lined with soft blankets, and reaches yet again for the journal that he had been toying with earlier.

He flips to the blank sheets at the back, clicks his pen, and begins writing. He doesn't get very far before he hears footsteps outside of the garden, and is interrupted by Blaine shuffling into the garden and brushing snow off of his overcoat.

"It's freezing out there!" he says, a bit too loudly, only realizing that Parker had been asleep when he comes awake at the sound of his daddy's voice. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't see you down there." He scoops the baby up, swings him into the air and holds him there before bringing him down and blowing raspberries all over his tummy to make him laugh.

Kurt watches them, the right corner of his mouth turned up, and puts his pen down. "You can get him back to sleep, then, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine has several of Parker's favorite toys at hand—his pockets are usually stuffed with them—and in no time at all Parker is settled, banging a stuffed horse against a stuffed transport, much to his fathers' amusement.

"One day the battle will be settled," Blaine says, winking at his husband.

"I don't know," Kurt says. "I kind of like the competition."

"Really," Blaine observes dryly, and then, without warning, tackles Kurt to the grass and begins tickling him. Kurt shrieks and goes down, but only for a moment—he rolls over on top of Blaine, who sits up and jolts him into his lap instead. Kurt, laughing, wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and leans in to kiss him.

"How was—"

Blaine kisses him back. "Tomorrow. No more today. Just you right now." Blaine's hands trace the slope of his back, the curve of his hip, up and down in a repetitive caress. "Were you writing?"

Kurt hums affirmatively. "Yes. Something—something my mom would have wanted me to write."

"Ooh. Interesting. Do you intend to share?"

"Maybe. When it's—maybe later. Much later," Kurt says.

"Very well. Tease," Blaine says, nuzzling his face into Kurt's neck.

A moment later they hear a _plop_ , and turn just in time to see Parker drop the journal into the reflecting pool. When they both stand quickly, Kurt saying, "Oh, Parker, no!" and Blaine going right for the water's edge, Parker flinches.

"Oh no," he cries, and then, when he is done mimicking, adds, "So'wee!"

The used pages of the journal had been treated with glaze, so no harm is done to them, but the blank pages at the back are not, and there isn't much left of the few paragraphs that Kurt had written on them. It doesn't matter—he can easily replicate the words—but his heart does skip a beat, because for a moment he'd forgotten about the glaze entirely.

"I hope you didn't lose anything important," Blaine says, shaking it off, and laying it out to dry on one of the statues that stands high enough to be out of Parker's reach.

Catching his breath, Kurt smiles, and takes a pouting, contrite Parker into his lap. Blaine sits down beside them, and with his free hand Kurt clasps Blaine's left, and draws him in closer.

"Everything that's important to me is right here," he says, and means it, with all of his heart.

 

*

 

_"My name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, and I am nineteen years old. The recording of this story is long overdue...though, in truth, the story has hardly begun."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! Thank you for those who have taken the time to leave chapter by chapter comments. I hope that those of you who have patiently waited will also enjoy the story just as much. :)

**Author's Note:**

> On Tumblr as well, posted under [this tag](http://missbeizy.tumblr.com/tagged/the%20anderson%20rose).
> 
> This story is complete and I will be posting chapters three times a week (Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays) to Tumblr first and AO3 shortly after.


End file.
